Grudgebearer (9 page)

“They don't get sneaky until after they've put words against you,” Japesh said.

“Against me how?” Breemson froze.

All three of them turned to the door at the sound of a commotion outside in the magisterial arena. Conwrath thought he heard the tail end of what might have been the word “unconscious” followed by a clang, a thump, and the sound of a body hitting the door and sliding to the ground.

“Generally,” Kholster said, as he opened the door and stepped over the unconscious guard who had been posted at it, “I shout them with thunderous volume at the offending party, in front of many witnesses.” He frowned at Breemson, and Conwrath wondered what the pudgy official with his sweat-stained robes and holy tattoos must look like to the Aern.

Then he knew. Aern tended to make food comparisons and . . . yes, pork, like as not. He could halfway see it himself. He didn't like to guess what kind of meat he seemed to the Aern. Probably pork for himself, too.

“You have my solemn oath, that, unless forced to fight in self-defense, or in trial by combat in the eyes of Shidarva in accordance to your laws—which, I should add, I would not appreciate—neither I nor my fellow Hundreds will attack you with our warpicks. Does that comfort you?”

It shouldn't
, Conwrath mused.
It wouldn't assure me one bit.
But he watched the magistrate relax slightly. “And Aern always keep their word.”

“Or they are no longer Aern,” Kholster said perhaps a bit more acidly than he'd intended.

“Very well.” Breemson regained his composure, smoothing his robes and wiping sweat from his brow with a hand towel. “You understand my need for assurances, of course?”

“No,” Kholster answered with a wolf-like smile. “But you have them nonetheless.”

CHAPTER 9

GOD SPEAKER

What do you think of the new magistrate?
Vander thought at Kholster as he reentered the audience chamber. It had changed very little since the last time Kholster had seen it. The cushions covering the tiered rows of brick benches provided for the audience had been reupholstered in a dark-purple fabric Kholster couldn't identify. Some over-soft cloth that his fingers yearned to touch. No doubt it wouldn't hold up well.

Overhead, a tent-like awning stretched over the entire chamber, ablating the sun's fierceness. It depicted the goddess Shidarva in all her glory, standing in judgment over petitioners. She sat upon a simple stool. Before her, a mighty-looking warrior wielding a blue sword was shown being defeated by a small child plying a blade matching in size and shape but ablaze with blue flames. It was good work and well maintained. Kholster still didn't understand why they didn't just call the place a holy arena.

Kholster saw Magistrate Breemson entering the chamber behind him, from Vander's perspective. The man looked a prize hog walking on its hind legs in a circus.
Pork
, Kholster thought back.
There's a lot of meat on his bones, too. He could easily feed two of us.

The guards who had been wise enough to clear out of Kholster's way when he'd demanded entry to the magistrate's inner chamber stood up straight, abandoning their unconscious comrade as the magistrate moved past them to the raised dais in the center of the chamber and approached upon the stool at its center. A stool which, Kholster noted, looked far more comfortable and ornate than the one depicted in the image which overlooked the proceedings. Breemson mounted the backless stool and cleared his throat, clearly waiting for Kholster to resume his seat in the place of waiting, exchanging an incomprehensible look with a Long Speaker and her two Long Arms seated in a recessed overlook to watch over the proceedings.

He could at that
, Vander thought back from his seat along the curved wall of the arena with the other Aern and the handful of citizens waiting to have their cases heard by the magistrate, those who hadn't fled the chamber immediately upon the Aern's entry.
I'm told some of the Elevens Rae'en kholstered tasted their meat cooked.

And?
Kholster put his hand on his Overwatch's shoulder as he took his place next to him, standing rather than sitting, and set himself at the ready, waiting the magistrate's pleasure. Theoretically, old business should come first. But Kholster found that most magistrates cut straight to the big game and dealt with the Aern. Unless they felt the need to try to demonstrate their authority . . .

They say the fat tastes better when it sizzles, but that the meat shrinks down
, Vander answered, watching the magistrate undo the bundle of documents contained within the official satchel next to his chair.

Not the first time I've heard that
, Kholster thought back.
Good reason not to cook it.

You think he's going to make us wait?
Vander thought.

I'd make battle plans around it.

Would you wager naming rights on it?

I never wager naming rights.

“Farmer Aimes?” The magistrate read from the official slate he'd withdrawn from the satchel. Kholster thought he did a fair job of pretending not to watch for a reaction out of the corner of his eye. Kholster twisted his chin to his left shoulder and then his right, partially to stretch his neck muscles, but mostly to see the human flinch.

See?
Vander chided.
You would have won. You have always been such a sword in the sheath.

I thought the expression was pick in the shed.

Farmer Aimes stepped forward, hesitantly, looking to the Aern as if seeking pardon or permission. Giving him both, Kholster waved the man forward and inclined his head permissively. Relieved, the short, squat man in often-patched overalls advanced to stand before the dais. Breemson mentioned some vague thing or other about the complaint, and Aimes dissembled further. Kholster had stopped paying attention by then. Something about cows.

The humans say something about a stick . . .

What?
he thought back at Vander.
Instead of sword in the sheath? Stick in the eye?

Something like that.

Maker?
Bloodmane's echoing thoughts intoned.

Kholster, old friend
, Kholster corrected automatically.
Just Kholster will be fine.

Of course, Maker. Scout and his crew have made it to the Shattered Plain. It is patrolled by crystal guardians, and the Eldrennai have built a wall around it. There are warning signs.

Show me.
Closing his eyes to see through Bloodmane's, Kholster experienced a momentary sense of dismay as his viewpoint warped and refocused to reveal the canted perspective of Scout, Okkust's armor. Plains once covered in myr grass, its purple plumes stirred by gentle breezes, had become a jumble of random craters and cracked earth, great shards of rock thrusting up high in one spot with the ground dropping away into deep rents in others. Abandoned, at the center of the devastation, Fort Sunder stood an empty carcass of stone which had once been home to over a million Aernese troops.

What's wrong with the air?
Kholster asked.

Relayed through Bloodmane, Scout's reply sounded distant and faded.
We think the odd shimmering is a side effect of Wylant's destruction of the Life Forge, First One. The warning signs
, Scout focused its vision, and one of the distant signs grew large in magnification until the words on it could be clearly read:
Twist Warning: All Elemental Magic Prohibited By Order of King Grivek.
Other signs read:
Elemental Magic Unstable in this Area
and
Using Elemental Arts in this Area May Cause Dimensional Breach and Death.

Do you feel any adverse effects?
Kholster thought back to Scout through his link with Bloodmane.

No, First One.

Can you get me a better look at one of the guardians?

Of course, First One.

His viewpoint shifted again, this time coming to rest on an insectoid construction of clear crystal. Six wings like panes of wavy glass held it aloft as it flew a circuit around the thirty-foot seamless wall (made of the same transparent substance) it had been tasked to guard. As Kholster watched, one of its wings stopped functioning and it was forced to land atop the wall, perching with its spider-like legs clutching the narrow blade-like apex of the wall.

Turning its head 180 degrees so it could get a better view of the malfunctioning wings, the construct reached back with the uppermost of its four sets of arms, the ones with prehensile digits as opposed to the heavy clawed graspers that punctuated the thicker lower arms, and began to manually force the wing to move, first up and down, then side to side. After several repetitions, the wing resumed normal function, and the construct continued its patrol flight, scanning the wall with multifaceted eyes flaring occasionally with brightly reflected sunlight.

How many of the things are there?
Kholster asked.

We're still checking
, Scout replied,
but so far it looks like half a dozen fully functional models. Twice that number appear forced to strictly ground patrol duties due to malfunctioning wings, and perhaps one dozen units appear to be completely nonfunctional.

Any Eldrennai at all?

None that we detect, First One.

Kholster sensed a hesitation in the warsuit, as if it were holding something back.

What is it, Scout?

My maker says it looks like the Eldrennai have stopped maintaining the work here. He wants me to go ahead and try breaching the wall.

Not just yet. Tell Okkust I want to wait until Eye Spike, Wind Song, and Hunter have their teams in position. Full line of sight. Until then keep a watchful eye out, yes?

Of course, First One. I believe my maker was merely anxious because of the bones.

Bones?

The bones of dead makers-to-be
, Scout's echoing voice said, his volume dropping low.
They are just visible through the breach.

Show me
, had just left Kholster's mind, when Vander's thoughts intruded:
I think he's about to get to us, Kholster.

Thank you, Scout. Please show Bloodmane the breach you mentioned so he can relay it to me later. And . . . thank you. Well done.

First One
, Scout acknowledged, and Kholster opened his eyes to view the audience chamber once more.

He just asked if he was boring you
, Vander prompted.
You'll want to review the little farmer fighting his gigantic neighbor. Shidarva's magic was jerking his sword to and fro. I can show you later.

Fine.
Kholster narrowed his eyes at the fat magistrate, his ears filled with remembered cries of a million dead Aern as their souls left their bodies and their spirits fed back into their brother and sister Aern, the five thousand Armored. In his mind's eye, he saw a sky filled with Aeromancers raining lightning down on Fort Sunder, Geomancers using the rocks to smash his soldiers and break his home. Echoes of past anger quickened in his chest, and he met the magistrate's impatience with bared fangs and a growl. At the sound of his growl, the pale blue eyes of the goddess, inked below Breemson's own, lit from within.

“I have been patient.” Kholster took a step forward. “I have come to your city to make peace with your people and you have made me wait, putting me to heel like a dog!”

“Here we go,” Vander muttered under his breath, elbowing Okkust. In the rear of his mind, Kholster sensed his fellow Aern ready to tear the city apart and eat their fill of its people, ready to turn his anger into action and . . . He took a deep breath, found his center, and reminded himself that the humans were not his enemies. Not all of them. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

“And I suppose that comes from unfamiliarity,” Kholster said more warmly, trying to tamp down the anger, stifle the rage. The humans weren't Eldrennai. They were Oathbreakers, perhaps, but it was difficult putting beings who'd never enslaved him or his people in the same category with those who had done so. “You don't know me, Magistrate. The last time I was here, you can't have been more than a child. We Aern trade items of the forge for meat from your farms. On rare occasion, when we decide to sell our bones, we offer you the right of first refusal.”

“Sell your bones?” Magistrate Breemson scoffed. “You sell us bone-steel.”

Kholster grimaced and Vander's thoughts found him:
I can start reinforcements on their way here from South Number Nine and they'd be here in three days even if the goblins wake.

They'd be here in two days; there are no such things as goblins
, Kholster thought back.

An expression
, Vander thought at him.

Ah, no reinforcements yet.

“Would you like to correct your speaker, Shidarva, or should I?” Murmurs went up from the crowd on that one. Addressing the goddess directly was simply not done. It had been so long since Kholster had felt bound to observe that particular nicety, he kept forgetting it existed. He waited, giving her a chance to respond, and when her eyes only narrowed, he proceeded. “Fine.”