Instruments of War (Iron Kingdoms Chronicles) (9 page)

Outside the window was the ruined courtyard of a once great castle. They were so high in the mountains that the clouds had come down to gather around the towers like fog. Those clouds were glowing, reflecting the flickering light of hundreds of campfires.

“I do not understand …” Makeda whispered.

“In the beginning, it was just your cohort and a handful of slaves,” Urkesh said. “But word spread of your sickness. Others had to come and see.”

“It was a few at first,” the veteran Cataphract said. “Warriors loyal to Telkesh and Vaactash, then maddened cultists of Xaavaax, and even soldiers of proud vassal houses such as Bashek and Kophar. Akkad executed many as an example, but soon whole taberna and even decurium had deserted in order to come here and keep watch over you. More gather every day.”

Makeda was stunned, her mind unable to estimate the number of troops assembled here. Even if there was but a single datha around each of those fires, it had to represent a mighty host, surely more warriors than most houses could boast, possibly even enough to rival Balaash’s combined sabaoth.

One of the warriors saw her standing at the window. There was a shout, and then another and another, until the entire camp erupted in one long incomprehensible roar. It was a battle cry.

She was nearly overcome. “But I was sick with fever. I was helpless.” The events in the encampment came rushing back. “I have been cast out of my house and declared a traitor. Why would they risk everything to follow such a weak leader?”

“It was anything but weakness.” It was a new arrival who answered. Makeda turned to see a young paingiver whom she had never met before. “When I heard of these events, I had to come and see for myself. This poison is an extraordinary invention, a curse that would make even great Morkaash proud. It is a marvel of the paingiver’s art. Never before have I seen a mixture capable of causing such pure agony and suffering. It felled even the great Telkesh and drove him insane within a single day. Even as strong as he was, his flesh could not withstand that level of purification before it broke his mind.”

The pain.
It was only half recalled, like a bad dream. Yet, she had not broken. She did not follow the way of the paingivers so she did not feel as if she had reached any sort of enlightenment, but she had endured. That was what mattered.

“Your cohort told others of this terrible agony you were experiencing,” Haradum said. “So they had to come to hear for themselves.”

“Hear what, elder teacher?” Makeda rasped. “Hear me descend into gibbering madness?”

“No.” the paingiver answered. “Despite being rent apart by the most delicious agonies possible, you rose above it. As your body was wracked with unfathomable pain and seizures, you transcended it all. These warriors came to hear the way to enlightenment.”

Haradum sounded reverent, “For every day for ten days and every night for ten nights, you recited the entirety of the code of hoksune.”

As if of one mind, every warrior in the room went to their knees and bowed.

“As for the young Venator, after you were overcome with poison, he lost control of the ferox. Wily beasts have no patience for untrained masters. He carried you on his back for miles until reaching your decurium. He never left your side the entire time you were consumed with fever.”

“I was unaware.” Urkesh’s commitment to duty was commendable. Perhaps it was possible to honor hoksune even without looking into a warrior’s eyes as you killed him.

“What troubles you, Makeda?”

“I have a decision to make, but the code does not provide me with clarity on this issue. I do not like being uncertain.”

“You always were one for clarity. As Vaactash used to say, when a titan is chasing, do not dither, pick a direction and run!”

That did not sound like something her grandfather would have said at all. “I would ask a favor of you, Aptimus.”

“I am already aware of what you seek, and I already have an answer for you. While you were battling the fever I attempted to commune with the essence of your grandfather’s spirit which dwells within your swords. Such a task is onerous and difficult, and sometimes our exalted ancestors do not deign to answer. Sometimes they know that the living must seek out wisdom for themselves. There was only the briefest communication.”

“What did he say?”

“The true heir of House Balaash has already won.”

Makeda was not surprised. It was not like Vaactash to provide an easy way out. “Akkad is the eldest, thus it is his legitimate right to rule. However, should an heir be deemed unfit, and I believe his dishonorable and cowardly murders —”

“Do not forget the blasphemy!”

“Of course.” Makeda suppressed a small smile. “That too. These things prove he is unworthy to lead House Balaash. So it falls to me to issue a challenge. It is my duty to defeat him in single combat and assume the mantle of archdomina.”

“Assuming of course you could defeat the finest warrior of his generation in a duel, but that doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Akkad will ignore my challenge and have me killed. Someone so dishonorable will not risk his throne. Akkad declared me an outcast. Officially, I am of lower status than a slave.”

“Most slaves do not have their own armies.”

“Yes. And if I march this army south, then somewhere on the plains north of Halaak we will clash against the rest of House Balaash. Thousands upon thousands will die.”

“It will be glorious.” Haradum shook one of her bony fists in the air. “To war! To war! The blood will flow like rivers!”

Makeda sighed. “The problem with a civil war is that whoever wins, House Balaash loses. The victor is irrelevant. We will rule over a house that is weakened and ripe to be conquered by our neighbors. House Balaash has too many enemies to gut our army and expect to survive.”

“Yes, yes.” Haradum was nodding along. “Perhaps you should accept your title of outcast and wander the wastes the rest of your days. I hear the Abyss is quite the sight to see.” Haradum’s laugh rattled like bones being shaken in a dried leather bag.

“My fate does not matter, Aptimus, only that of my house. Is it better that a blasphemous fiend rules than I start a war that ends House Balaash? Will my house rot under the rule of a dishonorable archdominar? I am of the warrior caste. I must fight for the good of my house.”

“Is that why you fight?”

Makeda paused. It was a simple question with a complicated answer. Why did she fight? Why did the skorne have to fight? She thought back to the time when she had come to understand the reasoning behind that question, in a hall filled with silent ancestors …

And then Makeda had her answer.
Thank you, Grandfather.

“Do you know what the foulest of all words is, Haradum?”

“Surely something involving rhinodons. They are obnoxious things with disgusting reproductive habits!”

“The foulest of all words is
peace
.” Makeda took up her swords and rose. “Come. I must prepare the warriors. We march.”

The ancient extoller squealed with delight. “Many will be exalted, I am sure!” Haradum cackled and patted one of the many empty sacral stones she wore like jewelry, knowing it would soon be filled. “To war! To war!”

During the journey south, Makeda’s body healed, but her mind was in turmoil. At night, sleep would not come, and when it did, it brought uneasy dreams of disapproving ancestors and House Balaash in flames.

Her cohort grew. New warriors joined her daily. From simple hestatians from the plains, wearing armor stitched together from titan hide, to steel-clad Cataphract the size of ancestral guardians, to nihilators with barbed pain hooks embedded in their flesh, to Venators armed with slings and vials filled with corrosive acid, to rich and powerful tyrants with stables of warbeasts.

Veterans knelt before her. Great leaders presented their swords or their mortitheurgy and swore to fight in her name. She formed new datha and taberna, and promoted warriors to lead them, gave battle orders, and saw to their logistical needs. They travelled fast and lean, making do with innate toughness rather than sufficient rations. By day Makeda learned to balance the politics, bickering, and petty ambitions of competing warriors, and by night she dreamed of war.

The warriors came for various reasons. Some because of old loyalties to Telkesh, or belief in the code, or disgust over the dishonor of losing an archdominar to poison, or vassals who decided to support one heir over another, to others who simply wished for a battle worthy of their skills. But whatever the reason, they continued to join, and the further south they went, the stronger her army became.

Within a week of leaving the Shroudwall, her army had grown large enough to pose a real threat to Akkad’s forces. She estimated nearly a quarter of House Balaash’s total sabaoth was under her command. A host so numerous, in fact, that if they were to go down in defeat, it would be a great enough battle that it would ruin the entire army of House Balaash.

For one of the only times in her life, Makeda understood what it was to fear.

She feared not for herself. If she was to be found wanting, let her be cast into the Void with the rest of the failures. That did not matter. Makeda feared for the future of her house.

Ancestors, if I am to be defeated, let it happen swiftly, so my house may be spared.

Each night she counseled with her officers and listened as the tacticians made their plans. Too many of those plans ended with a slaughter that would lead to the eventual destruction of her house. She spoke with each of the officers individually, searching for ideas that would accomplish her mission, yet leave the great army of Balaash relatively intact.

Yet it was not one of the mighty war leaders that had proposed a possible solution to her dilemma.

It had been a slave.

“I do not see Akkad’s personal banner among the horde,” Urkesh said as he moved his eyes from side to side, searching carefully for targets. “He did not bother to come himself.”

The Venator had proven to have the most acute vision of any of her officers so Makeda was inclined to believe him. “I should not be surprised.” It was difficult to keep the disgust from her voice. “But I am disappointed.”

The morning mist had risen from the lake and a low fog hung over the plains. Makeda had spent most of her life in this region. She knew it well. Within a few hours the sun would rise enough to cut through the knee-high fog, but until then the air would be still. To the east an endless sea of red and gold marched through the churning grey. The majority of the great army of House Balaash was arrayed before her, thousands strong. A few miles behind that army she could see House Balaash itself, once her home, and now her objective. At her back was a smaller army, made up of warriors who believed that honor meant something. To the north stretched the long crystal blue expanse of Mirketh Lake. To the south open plains went on for miles before reaching the great city of Halaak.