Grudgebearer (22 page)

Cold touched the back of Kazan's eyes, the overcast sky blocking out the stars and forcing him to use thermal vision as he marveled at the weapon. The polearm was a full kholster in length with two spikes on the poll, one on the eye, and a curved hook curling from the top of the blade with which Kazan knew from personal experience Malmung could snag any piece of loose clothing or equipment and pull an attacker off balance and to the ground, where the top spearhead-like spike of the weapon would come into play. Engraved likenesses of snarling wolves with exaggerated fangs glared at the watcher from the polearm's cheeks. It was almost enough to make Kazan wish he'd forged such a weapon for himself instead of a warpick.

Warpicks are traditional, a true and a safe choice, but—

You still worrying over whether you should have made a bolder choice of implement?
Joose thought.
In twenty-six more years you can make another soul-bonded implement and—

It gives me the yarps
, Arbokk sent.

That mace of yours give me the yarps
, M'jynn sent back.

I still don't see why it doesn't leave you bloody every time you move too fast.
Kazan glanced down at the spiked mace hanging from a sheath frog (a removable leather assembly) attached by two rings to Arbokk's belt.

Charming would never do that to me
, Arbokk snapped back.

Unless you lose your concentration, you mean
, Joose threw in.

That only happened once!

Only takes once
, Joose and M'jynn thought in unison.

Sharp and hard, the crack of bone-steel on stone echoed in their ears and minds as Malmung raised his polearm a few fingers off the ground then brought the butt down on the stone. Resisting the urge to cover their ears because they knew it wouldn't help block the sound Malmung was sending directly into their minds, the Overwatches gritted their teeth and bore it.

Kazan stood at attention, his warpick in both hands held at waist level roughly parallel with his shoulders. Joose followed suit with his own warpick.

M'jynn drew his sword from the sheath frog on his belt and held it the same way, gripping the blade lightly with his left hand, the hilt firmly with his right. Arbokk's mace, unsuited even more so than M'jynn's blade for such a position, wound up gripped one-handed in a close approximation of the stance, his empty right hand curled into a tight fist.

Malmung repeated the gesture three more times. There was no more idle chatter.

“She passed.” Raising his polearm as he spoke, he brought it up and laid it comfortably across his shoulders, hands gripping the shaft as if it were a yoke for hauling water. “Rae'en. She can think the way he wants. Apart.”

“Who can't?” Kazan asked before he could catch himself.

“Me,” Malmung swung the polearm around, turning as he did so, to let it sling out to its full length, the spike at its eye coming within a hairsbreadth of Kazan's nose, “for one, but I've learned it's not a weakness . . .”

A map of the surrounding area bloomed in the mind of the four Overwatches, every bit as detailed as what they might have shown him had he asked. The words “it marks me as a different sort of weapon” appeared in golden ink inscribed in the air above the surface of the map.

“Now for your test,” Malmung said aloud, deliberately, as if he were being careful to get each word exactly right. “You are released to your former duty, assigned to kholster Rae'en. Your kholster is in the field. Dismissed.”

On the word
dismissed
, Malmung's presence dropped away from them as if a link had been severed. He brushed by Kazan, slapped the hilt of a dagger into his hand, and walked off into the night.

Holding the blade conveyed a sense of potential need and eventual return. Kazan saw an image of himself going somewhere, coming back, and giving the blade back to Malmung just as Malmung had given it to him.

This dagger is a soul-bonded implement
, Kazan thought to the others.

I figured out what he calls his primary tool
, Joose thought back.

What?

Joose sent them an image of the polearm.
That.

That's shiverworthy
, M'jynn thought back.
What a miscast he is.

I think if he had to put it into words, he would just call it “My Implement” or maybe “The polearm I made to kill with that holds a splinter of my soul.”

Kazan turned the dagger over in his hand. It had a sharp curving blade with only one cutting edge. The words “Return when finished” were etched in fuller-like grooves on either side of the blade.

So . . . do we go back to the barracks?
Arbokk asked.

“Our kholster is in the field.” Kazan tasted the words as he slid the strange dagger into one of his twin pouches.

And where does an Overwatch belong?
Joose prodded.

Kazan smiled, an expression he saw reflected equally on the tired faces of his fellows. He nodded.

Do you think we'll get to see a Zaur?
M'jynn asked.

No
, Kazan thought back.
They're probably all dead.

An Oathbreaker?
Arbokk thought.
I'd love to tear into one of them.

Let's just find Rae'en first
, Kazan ordered.

As one, they turned and ran into the night following the pull of their kholster's presence, somewhere out over the horizon, down the Commerce Highway and beyond, a burning ache not of pain but of absence.

It would still track pretty well to get to kill some Zaur
, Kazan thought, focusing his mind on keeping the thought to himself as he ran.

CHAPTER 20

GENERAL TSAN

Half a world away, Na'Shie burned. Huge pillars of flame cast an unwanted flickering light upon the carnage of the besieged port city, a light reflected in the black eyes of the Zaur invaders.

General Tsan watched the scene with quiet joy, his scales, normally a dull murky red, shone crimson as he basked in the furnace-like heat generated by the burning ships. The reptilian commander twisted his wedge-shaped head from side to side as the Zaurruk battered through the hulls of ships, snatching sailors from their vessels and swallowing them whole. As the giant war serpents turned their attention to the
Verdant Passage
, Tsan reeled about to face the ship's captain, his forked tongue tasting the human's fear and desperation.

The human, a man called Randall Tyree, twisted his face as if to look away but forced himself to watch. Tsan wondered if it was guilt that made the human want to bear witness to the destruction of his crew or simple morbid curiosity.

“What are they?” asked Captain Tyree. He clenched his jaw between words, biting down hard, each utterance an explosive burst of breath.

“Weapons of old,” answered General Tsan. “The Zaurruk sleep in the deep places, Captain, where the warmbloods dare not go.”

Tsan gestured at the sloping entrance to the once-great Zalizian Bazaar, which led down to the docks. A crew of Zaurruk handlers commanded their charges watched by Sri'Zauran guards with black scales banded by narrow scales of iridescent blue. The handlers rhythmically pounded the ground with steel mallets of varying sizes, sending orders to the mighty war serpents below. Each of the crews had their black scales painted with concentric circular patterns of gray and white, matching the patterns on the Zaurruk themselves. A fourth serpent curled itself defensively around the watchtower atop which General Tsan and Tyree stood. Several members of the Port Authority still twitched at Tsan's feet, angry red lines of poison clearly streaking their skin.

Tsan examined Captain Tyree, smiling at his struggle not to watch his fellow humans' death throes. The venomous bite of most Zaur was not fatal unless they were in the grip of the mating urge, but Tsan and his kin were different.

Our bite
, Tsan thought,
is always deadly.

Tsan slapped his tail against the stone roof, and his black-scaled personal guard formed a semicircle blocking the roof access, though Tsan felt he had little need of their protection. The city's defenders were either dead, dying, or fleeing for their lives.

“Look, Captain.” Tsan pointed to the ruined hulk of the
Verdant Passage
as the large merchant vessel sank beneath the waves. He spoke the human language with no trace of the usual lisp caused by a Zaur's forked tongue. “Isn't that your ship?”

“You know it is, you scaly bastard!” The captain launched himself at Tsan, only to be restrained by the general's quick-clawed lieutenant. “You said the
Verdant Passage
would be spared!”

Tsan laughed, too pleased with victory to lose his good humor over the foolish insults of an overly emotional warmblood. Besides, the human had been most useful.

“I said that if they stayed put, as arranged, I would spare them,” the general corrected. “They attempted to flee. My troops had orders to set ablaze any ship that tried to run. Blame your first mate, not me.” Tsan dropped to all fours and slithered along the floor. “I always keep my bargains.”

As Tsan rose up before him, Captain Tyree recoiled involuntarily, leaning back as far as the Zaur restraining him would allow, but Tsan had no intentions of striking. He plucked a small spyglass from the case on Tyree's belt and propped his forelegs on the edge of the tower. Raising the glass to his eye, Tsan watched the crew, those who'd survived thus far, swimming as hard as they could, striving to get enough distance to avoid being sucked in by the vacuum resulting from their sinking vessel. The docks were in ruins, except for the southernmost pier, where dark shapes continued the fight.

They were his soldiers, magnificent in their armor, each carrying a bow, their angular Skreel blades sheathed at their sides. The Zaur who led them was like no Zaur any of these warmbloods would have ever seen. Slightly taller than the others, the leader sported scales with alternating rings of amber and pale blue. His head, like Tsan's, was more angular and pointed than his fellow soldiers, almost like an arrowhead.

“Release him,” the general ordered.

Tsan's lieutenant complied, favoring the captive human with a threatening hiss. His long forked tongue flickered across Captain Tyree's throat. The captain was no longer afraid. The man had gone from grief to acceptance so quickly that Tsan marveled despite himself at the human's adaptability.

“I'm not your type,” Tyree protested, pushing the lieutenant's muzzle away from his neck. “I'm afraid I don't foam up
or
lay eggs. You're cute though—don't let anyone tell you you're not.”

Tsan offered the spyglass back to Captain Tyree but was not surprised when he declined. The ground shook as the Zaurruk pulled back from the harbor, and Tsan hissed happily as the troops swooping in behind them dumped barrels of oil into the water and set it afire. Tsan could not hear the screams from this distance, but from Tyree's expression, he thought the human heard them.

“I will reimburse you for the cost of your vessel and its crew, Captain,” General Tsan said softly. “It wasn't fair to expect them to remain rational in the presence of the Zaurruk.”

He lowered the spyglass and smiled at the surprised human. “A royal kandit per crewman,” he offered, “ten for your navigator, two for your cook, thirty for your cargo, and . . . shall we say eighteen hundred for your ship?”

General Tsan watched the human run the numbers in his head. Humans were so adaptable; bending them this way and that was a hatchling's game. But Tyree . . . Tsan wondered if it wouldn't be wiser to kill the human now. If the human gave him an excuse, that's exactly what he would do, but almost as if Tyree sensed his thoughts, the human calmed further. The threat in his tensed muscles eased away. The human met Tsan's gaze and smiled.

“That would be most generous. Thank you,” Captain Tyree finally agreed. “Though if I could have some of that in Zalizian scrip . . .”

So adaptable.

Tsan conceded with a flick of his tail. Let the human have his foreign scrip. Let him live, too. If all went well, by the time he received his payment, the good captain would beg to accept Zaur coin. “I assume you brought the information I asked for?” Tsan held out his hand.

Captain Tyree pulled a battered notebook from his leather pouch and handed it to the Zaur. “It's all there.”

Warlord Xastix's plan had worked perfectly. Weeks of waiting for the wind to die had paid off in blood, casualties, and total devastation for the port. When the Eldrennai sent to Zaliz for aid, none would be forthcoming. The next nearest northern port on the Cerrullic Coast was Klinahn, and they would be much less likely to send assistance once word reached them concerning the fate of Na'Shie.

Tsan gestured at the lieutenant who had restrained Tyree so readily. “Take Captain Tyree and the census data he has provided us to the warlord. Once the information has been verified, pay him the agreed-upon amount, mark him as a scale-friend, and let him go. He has been of great service to the Zaur.”