Grudgebearer (19 page)

“I'd rather not eat alone.”

“You don't want to eat the weasel, you mean.” Kholster held out his hand, received the weasel, and dutifully began to eat. “Vander won't eat it either,” he said between mouthfuls. “It tastes fine to me.”

“You eat cave snail,” Rae'en teased.

“What,” Kholster cracked open the weasel's skull to get at the brain, “is wrong with cave snail?”

“It smells like . . . like . . . muck.”

“And?”

My father will eat anything; you know?
she thought to M'jynn. She felt only a dim connection and frowned.
So I've finally gone far enough my Overwatches can't hear me.
She shook her head.

“Out of range?” Kholster asked.

Rae'en nodded. “I could reach them last night, but—”

“You're a strong kholster, but even with a warpick properly forged and soul bonded, most of the unArmored can't reach more than a few hundred jun northwest of Khalvad.”

“And the Armored?”

Kholster looked off to the horizon before answering as if he saw a distant object Rae'en could neither perceive nor comprehend. “I've found nowhere on this plane of existence where an Armored cannot reach out and commune with his or her true skin.”

“On this plane of existence?” Her ears flattened a bit at that one.

“When the Port Gates closed in the last Ghaiattri War,” Kholster said between mouthfuls of meat. “Those trapped on the other side. . . . Their armor could no longer find them.”

The Lost Command
, Rae'en thought to her Overwatches.
I hope you can hear this. I'm trying to send it all.

“Their souls did not rejoin the Aern, so it is possible they still exist out there somewhere, beyond the Port Gate, in the Ghaiattri Lands.”

“So, there's hope,” Rae'en chirped.

“I never lose hope.”

“That must be nice.”

“At times.” Kholster patted her on the shoulder. “You should know your Overwatches may still be able to hear you when you think to them for some time. Before I was Armored, the few times Vander and the others were so far away their thoughts could not reach me, we discovered,” a grin swept across his features, “my thoughts could still reach them quite well.”

“Well, you are All Know,” Rae'en said as she finished the first rabbit.

Kholster laughed at her use of the name most newborn Aern first called him. Rae'en's entire being thrilled at the sound. What was it like to be able to speak to every Aern? To know that every Aern spent his or her life hoping to please you? Was it uncomfortable, or did her father take pride in it? She couldn't know without asking, but Rae'en sensed it was probably the first answer . . . uncomfortable, even after millennia. Her father knew any Aern would do anything he asked, even suggested . . .

It was hard to wrap her brain around that level of responsibility. Was it any wonder he rarely—if ever—became romantically involved with Aernese women? Any of them would say yes, instantly, so he never asked. She imagined it would take a very direct, patient, and persistent Aern to court her father.

A blush rose to Rae'en's ears and forehead. What had turned her thoughts to mating? Thinking of mating brought the image of Kazan's face into her mind's eye, and she flushed a deeper bronze. “Enough of that!” she whispered to herself. She waited for her father to comment, but he remained studiously unaware of her inner turmoil.

“You can finish your rabbit while we walk,” Kholster said as he stood. “Keep your warpick wrapped,” he reminded her for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“We don't want the glare to draw attention to ourselves,” she said. “Yes, sir.”

She reached back, felt the heft of her very own warpick between her shoulders and smiled.

“And eat the liver,” he said, tossing a weasel organ to her. “That's where the most metal is.”

*

Traveling mostly at a steady trot, the two Aern kept to old mountain roads, animal trails, and hiking paths, many of which were only marked now, if they had ever been, in her father's memory. Kholster's path drew them past burned stone shelters and homesteads which had long surrendered to nature. At times Kholster burst into a run with which Rae'en could not quite keep pace.

What is he doing, guys?
Rae'en thought at her Overwatches. They didn't answer . . . and she'd expected them to, even though she knew they couldn't. She had grown so accustomed to their presence on the edge of her consciousness. She missed them more like missing an arm than a finger.

They scrambled up sheer drops. In one place, they stopped to fell a huge oak where the previous log bridge had collapsed or rotted through. In some spots, her father ignored new construction which would have made their path easier, while in other cases, he opted to cross bridges and steps which were obviously too poorly made to support either of their weights, reacting with surprise when they failed beneath him.

Finally, as Kholster frowned at a well-built stone bridge and began to march into a gully full of rocks and brambles, Rae'en spoke.

“Why aren't we taking the bridge?”

“What?” Kholster asked. “That thing?” He snarled at the bridge as if it were disgusting. “It's all manner of strange. What kind of wood do they call that? It's gone gray and moldy.”

“Wood?” Rae'en's mouth fell open. “Father, it's stacked stone.”

“It's no such thing and whoever built it could hardly have done a worse job if they'd been struck in the head with my warpick and spun three times in a circle before starting.”

Rae'en eyed the bridge then her father. “It's a wonderful spot of craftsmanship—even Uncle Glin would agree.”

“Tell me no lies.” Kholster strode toward her and did not stop until they stood less than a finger's width apart. Even at full height, her father stood a hand taller than she did. This close, his breath washed over her eyes, the points of his doubled canines hard to ignore as he spoke. “I say it is a wooden bridge made by humans with little care and no knowledge of safe construction.”

Rae'en's mind reeled. “But it's not,” she whispered.
It's not, is it?
she caught herself thinking at Arbokk.

“Are you whispering to yourself or addressing your kholster?”

“My kholster,” she answered flatly.

“Then speak up.” Had she caught the hint of a grin at the corner of his lips? “I say it is wooden and unsafe.” His hot breath made her blink despite herself. “What say you, soldier Rae'en?”

“Ah . . . one moment, Kholster.” Stepping back from her father, Rae'en reached into the leather pack on her right side. With mental thanks to her Uncle Vander for the endless drills on packing, she found a steel blade quickly by touch and drew it out. With one look at Kholster and another at the bridge, she tapped the stone with the flat of the blade. No, it wasn't some cleverly concealed illusion through which her father had easily seen. It was certainly stone, just as it appeared to her. How could he be so wrong? How could he not clearly see it was a sturdily built stone bridge?

“Well, soldier?” When she turned back to face him, there was less black in his eyes than before. His amber pupils had expanded, as had the ring of jade around them. His breath came in ragged pants, seeming on the verge of the Arvash'ae. “Your kholster is waiting for an answer.”

“It's stone, Kholster. On my oath, as best as I can tell from what I have perceived, the bridge is stone and safe and whole.”

“And you say that I, First of One Hundred, First of all Aern, First forged, First free . . . am wrong?!? You dare say this? On your oath, you'd best answer me truthfully.”

“I . . .” For a moment she hesitated, then steeled herself. He'd said on her oath, and he'd get it. “Yes, Kholster.”

“Good.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “I thought I was going to have to lead us right off the mountain into a ravine before you spoke up.”

“Wait. What?”

Kholster moved past her. “Oh. You're right.” He tapped the bridge rail with his third knuckle. “Stone it is. How about that.” He looked over his shoulder with a wink, eyes completely normal again. “Thank you, soldier Rae'en.”

“You did that on purpose!?”

“Did I?” Kholster hopped up on the stone railing and did a cartwheel along the edge. His mail did not so much as clink. “If I can say nothing else good about the man, Saul Gundt knew how to build a bridge.”

The way her father held his bone-steel mail close to his skin impressed Rae'en almost as much as this—whatever it was he had been trying to prove with the bridge—irritated her. She was still getting used to letting her warpick cling to her back. It also told her he hadn't gone mad. A cartwheel in soundless chain with warpick remaining safely in place served as nigh definitive proof that her father was sound of mind and body. Doing it on the railing was just brag.

“What were you thinking? Why? Why would you—”

“You're a kholster,” her father said evenly as he dropped down on the other side of the bridge. “You tell me why I did it. Your Overwatches can't give you the answers. You're on your own now in a way you haven't been in thirteen years.”

“I can think for myself.”

“I believe you,” Kholster answered, “but I need to know you believe yourself. Kazan, M'jynn, Joose, and Arbokk have been a thought away for more than half your life. It changes the way we think, the way we process problems. For some it supplants the ability to think independently . . . completely.”

Right, like I—
, she cut herself off in mid-thought.

“Right, like you what?” Kholster asked calmly.

Her eyes widened. “You can hear my thoughts, but—”

“Can I?” Kholster asked, face impassive.

“But you just did.”

“Did I?” Kholster's amber pupils seemed to bore into her, searching her for evidence of some crime or fundamental flaw.

What did he mean, could she think without her Overwatches? Of course she could! At times she slipped up and sent thoughts she didn't mean to broadcast, though she sometimes whispered to herself as she'd seen other kholsters do . . . and, yes, communicating with her Overwatches had become second nature to her and to them. They were like best friends who could be shown, and allowed to comment on, anything and everything in an instant.

Her dad did the same thing with Vander and . . .

“It's Vander,” Rae'en spat as the idea came to her. “Or one of the other Armored Overwatches. You—”

He ordered you to report any thoughts I sent out, right?
she sent, as though to her Overwatches, though she knew they were out of range.

“Answer aloud.” Kholster frowned.

“In case they are trying to answer for me and make it look like I answered?”

“Because I'm Kholster and those are my scars on your back.” His frown didn't deepen as she'd feared, but it stayed a frown.
That's what I get for trying to inject a little levity when he's testing me. He's just so serious
, Rae'en thought to herself.

“You asked Vander to report anything I thought to my Overwatches directly to you, right?” Rae'en said.

“Only in this specific instance,” Kholster replied. “And it's kholster Malmung, not Vander. Vander is already at sea with the rest of the invasion force. You could have deduced that, but well done all the same.”

Gah! He's right, I should have
, she thought but asked aloud, “The youngest of the Armored?”

“Point of view. His was the final warsuit created before the Life Forge's destruction,” Kholster acceded. “Though, he is not technically the youngest. Styrm and Drin are, but that's not part of the lesson. Why the boar hunt across the countryside? There are two reasons: one theoretical and one practical.”

“You . . .” Rae'en chewed on her upper lip. “You wanted . . . to see how long it would take . . . for me to correct you?”

“Did I?” Kholster's face gave no hint to let her know whether she was right or wrong.

“I . . .” She doubted herself for a moment, but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the correct answer. “You wanted to know if I could tell you that you were wrong and when I did, to see if I would back down or hold my ground against you.”

“Many can't.”

She smiled broadly, exposing all four sets of canines.

“Good work.” The praise thrilled her. “But that's only one of the reasons.” Her heart sank.

Because he could remember every step he'd ever taken? Because he hated the Commerce Highway? No, he couldn't hate it that much, their path kept bringing it back into view over and over again. If her father truly hated the road, they'd either not see it at all until the last possible moment or he'd have marched them right down the middle to get it over with, like ripping out a tooth that was taking too long to fall out on its own.