Grudgebearer (29 page)

Further shock registered briefly as Gheest felt the Harvester's hands on his soul.

“Try again,” the Harvester's voice said softly. “You can do better.”

CHAPTER 27

GUILD CITY GATES

The sun dipped over the exterior wall, casting dark shadows over Kholster and his companions as they reached the western-most entrance to the city. Inverted keyhole embrasures, formed by merlons carved to resemble wary gargoyles, created strange bands of light piercing the ground shadow, highlighting Kholster amid those making their way toward the city gates. Catching the eye of an archer staring down at him as he stepped into such a patch, the Aern grinned. To his credit the archer did not react.

I wonder when they removed the roof?
Kholster thought to Vander, forgetting for a moment that his Overwatch was on down cycle.

A vague questioning blur of sleepy thought reached Kholster.
Need something?

No. It's fine. Sorry.
It was odd to be on a different sleep cycle from Vander. Not that all of the One Hundred were asleep. His other three core Overwatches were awake, and another twenty of the One Hundred, even Zhan, but he'd never been as close to them as he was to Vander. He hoped the same problem would not befall Rae'en when she took his place.

A century ago, Kholster had been unable to rest a hand on this side of the wall. A ditch dug round the city and filled with water and muck had prevented it. Now he rested a bare hand against the cool granite surface, his gloves having been burned beyond repair in his initial encounter with Cadence—not to mention his facial hair and the Dwarven denim pants he'd been wearing. Thank Aldo, he'd opted to leave the rifle and gunpowder Glinfolgo had dedicated for his use with the fleet.

Two centuries ago, the walls had been only partially completed. A century before that, the Guild Cities themselves were just beginning to come to fruition. In another century, would the walls be lined not with archers but with riflemen?

I wonder how long before my use of gunpowder makes other weapons irrelevant?
Kholster concentrated on deliberately keeping the thought to himself. The longer the war with the Oathbreakers went on, the more likely the humans would catch scent of what was happening. If Kholster or his Aern had to try to make any gunpowder in the field, he knew the ox would be out of the paddock.

I'm surprised the Dwarves have kept a bag over everyone's head as long as they have.

How the simple security measure the Dwarves had taken of using magic to turn the “jun” powder pink, of ordering Dienoxin crystal and allowing a portion of the recipe to be “stolen,” detailing the importance of the Dienoxin crystal and its proper processing . . . how that had worked so long to keep the humans and the gnomes from figuring it out seemed miraculous. Kholster knew it to be part miracle and part assassination.

Assassination. Hmmm.

Zhan
, Kholster thought,
what are your Armored doing?

No surer sign that Eyes lie sleeping than to hear First Bones in my head.
Zhan's thoughts came tinged with a mild distortion from the required rerouting via End Song, Zhan's warsuit.
My hounds are scattered like leaves in the wind, Kholster. Some lie ahead. Some behind. If you're planning on being gutted, I'll move them all in.

And Caz?

Silencer indicates you should look high and left.

Kholster did so, catching the briefest flash of Caz's skull helm looming behind an archer manning a keyhole. The Bone Finder's eyes touched on Kholster's, his narrowed gaze seeming to say, “You watch your quadrant, I've got mine covered.”

Once spotted, Caz dropped away unseen.

“Was that Caz?” Rae'en hissed.

Kholster touched a silencing finger to his lips and answered with a brief nod, smiling as he walked on.

Ahead, the line of travelers split into two separate and mostly distinct lines, the people seeking entrance to Mason divided. Those bringing in goods stepped to the left, and those with other business to the right. Kholster moved to the right.

Rae'en followed Kholster's lead, stepping into the queue of people not bearing goods but seeking entrance to the city.

Are your warsuits? . . .

In the wind, First Bones. It's easier to conceal my two-hundred-plus End Song and Silencer than it is to hide your five thousand. Did you have a task for us or . . . ?

No, just . . .

We are of one mind and spirit, if that's the nettle in your boot
, Zhan thought.
Dredger and Garris were reunited last night. I sent him up to Fort Sunder to help them sort bone metal. I wish you would agree to have an increased number of Ossuarians trailing you. Once you reach The Parliament of Ages, you'll be on your own completely for a few days.

Good.
Kholster breathed a sigh of relief.
No problems then.

Zhan laughed, presumably at Kholster's version of no problems.
None concerning the warsuits. We seek the bones. They seek the bones. There isn't much room for strife amongst Ossuarians whether the metal is outside or in.

“I hope not,” Kholster murmured.

“You don't get to skip the line?” Cadence asked. Sweat still stood out on her skin. Red streaks marked the veins at her neck. It was a wonder she hadn't gotten the shakes, but if she didn't have them by now, she wouldn't . . . which told Kholster he'd been right all along. She didn't need the crystal. Someone had convinced her she needed it, gotten her addicted to it, and was slowly using crystal abuse to burn down her abilities to a more manageable level. Whether or not they knew that was what they were doing, other than the control through addiction portion, Kholster couldn't say. Any brigand who would follow a man like Darbin struck Kholster as either a monster or a dangerous fool.

“Hey.” Cadence thumped his shoulder when he did not answer immediately. “Hey. I'm talking to you, wolf ears.”

“Perhaps,” Kholster turned to face her. “But why should I, as you say, skip the line?”

“You're a king or a hero or some such!”

“King Wolf Ears?” Kholster swatted away the hand of a pickpocket trying to reach into one of his Aernese saddlebags. Two hands wide and three hands long with bone-steel reinforcements at the bottom corners and a matching fastener at the middle, Kholster's saddlebags were only lightly singed. “Don't make me take your hand, child. Your screams might wake the baby.”

He gestured to the heavily slumbering Caius in Rae'en's arms, but the nattily dressed street thief was already in full flight.

“Hey.” Cadence thumped Kholster's shoulder again. “Shouldn't there be a procession or something?”

“I don't like them.” Noticing the line had moved forward, Kholster filled in the space.

Thump. “Or an envoy?”

“Draekar will tell them I'm here once I'm inside the city,” he called over his shoulder. “Usually, I'm at South Gate making my way into Bridgeland before they can get organized enough to ‘greet' me.”

A few more steps forward in the line, and Kholster's nostrils flared at the familiar scent of rock dust. He didn't know if humans could smell the difference between the various types of rock worked and sold in Mason, but he recognized the tension easing from Rae'en's shoulders, her stance more relaxed even as he felt the smells so reminiscent of South Number Nine work their quiescent effect upon himself.

“Hey.” Thump. “If you fall asleep,” Cadence needled, “can I leave?”

“You can do whatever you like then or now,” Kholster answered, “but if you want the babe returned to your care, I suggest you follow along to the Harvester's temple to ensure you will be recognized as his mother upon the completion of your cleansing.”

“It will never work.” Cadence stamped the ground in frustration, cursing as she had to grab Kholster's arm or tumble to the dirt. “They don't take crystal users.”

“Not usually.” Ahead of them, a scuffle between the guards and a traveler seemed to indicate the lack of appropriate paperwork, identification, or spending money.

Kholster counted twelve guards in gray brigandine, six with swords belted to their waists and six with spears. Combined with the Long Speakers, one with silver trim to her gray robe, the other with black trim clearly marking him as a Long Arm, and the other archers that had to be up on the walls somewhere behind arrow slits, there were a lot of guards. Kholster was amazed that the human bothered.

Thump. This time the thump was further punctuated by a snort from Rae'en. “If you're so keen on helping people.” Cadence gestured at the scuffle.

“I'm not.” Kholster took a step closer to Cadence, bringing them chest to chest. He expected her to back away, but Cadence stood her ground. If anything, she seemed to lean into him. He waited a hundred count as they breathed in each other's exhalations. “Was there anything else?”

“No.”

He stood there for a ten count. “You keep thumping me on the shoulder.”

“Sorry.”

In the corner of his eyes, Rae'en's chest shook as she struggled to hold in laughter. With a heavy sigh, Kholster turned back toward the gate. Another six guards joined the others.

Bird squirt. Draekar knows we're here, yes?
Kholster thought to Varvost, Fifth of One Hundred and his temporary Prime while Vander slept.

Yes, and Zhan says the Bone Finders are in position if need be.

Who?

Caz, Teru, and Whaar. He says they have a reputation in the Guild Cities.

The Long Speaker approached slowly, proud, but scared.

What the hells are they up to?

“Shall we report your arrival?” the Long Speaker asked. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Cadence.

“No.” Kholster eyed the guards. “And for the next hundred hours, this one is under my protection, as is her child.”

Look steadily at the guards for a three count
, Vander requested.

Kholster looked past the Long Speaker. Utilitarian helms, like smoothed and emptied tortoise shells, covered each soldier's hair, the leather straps tied under their necks. They wore dark leather gloves of some pungent animal Kholster did not immediately recognize. Boiled leather plates, the same color as the gloves, protected the thighs, hobnailed boots like his own serving to shield the feet and lower legs.

Not bad if your opponent doesn't attack the back of your knees
, Vander thought.

Or throat or face or eyes
, Kholster thought back.
You didn't need to wake.

Sure I did. Eyes of Vengeance said you'd started pestering Zhan . . .

Pestering?

Oh, yes. You're a spectacular pain in the jaw, but I'm used to it.

Ha!

The Long Speaker had been saying something, but Kholster realized he hadn't heard it when she turned on her heel and walked away; he'd been too caught up in the assessment of the guards and his banter with Vander.

Did you track any of that?

Sorry, Kholster, I'm still too sleepy to lip read and you weren't transmitting sound.

Habit
, Kholster thought back by way of apology.
Check with the others.

Doing it now.

“Kholster Bloodmane,” called a guardsman approaching from the rear. A band of copper rimmed his helm and the edges of his brigandine, marking him, Kholster assumed, as a commander of sorts. “This year you won't slip away so easily.”

Marrow
, Bloodmane broke in,
says that's Captain Pallos and that Whaar tracked what the Long Speaker said. It was a warning about the Speaker's College's intolerance for those who dilute their talents with drugs.

Thank you.

“Captain Pallos.” Kholster stepped forward, offering to clasp hands. “I'd like to think that wasn't a threat.”

CHAPTER 28

WYLANT'S WORRIES

The cooling yet still-warm wind of summer-turning-to-fall blew through the open windows of Wylant's rooms at Port Ammond, scattering the pages of Prince Dolvek's latest dispatch from her desk to flutter to the hard stone floor. Moonlight touched the smooth, attractive lines of Wylant's face, revealing red, puffy eyes and chapped lips. Her coverlet lay cast aside on the floor, exposing her nakedness to no one but the gods. Rubbing at her nose as she slept, Wylant flinched as if in the grips of a nightmare.

Ever since Kholster had named her Aiannai, she had not dreamt properly. Instead, Wylant relived past events without the benefit of dreams to recast and obfuscate the things with which her unconscious mind needed to come to terms. Crystal-clear reenactments of events long past were all she had, forcing her to deal with them and move on . . . or not . . . just like the Aern.

The memory which caused her to toss and turn on this occasion was pleasant enough. A gnomish Dreamsmith might even have explained the images as a longing for simpler days, claiming the stresses of command were too much for a female. They would have been wrong on the one hand and as sexist as the typical Eldrennai male on the other.