Grudgebearer (57 page)

On Freedom Day, at the end of the Demon War, Kholster remembered kneeling at King Zillek's feet, listening to his speech. Zillek had been fond of speeches. He had praised them for pushing the Ghaiattri back into the demon world. He had acknowledged the brave Aern who had died to accomplish it, the loss of Aern who had at the end advanced Armorless into the void as part of a last desperate gamble to take the Ghaiattri by surprise and close the gate from the Ghaiattri side. He had named them the Lost Command, had ordered a monument built at Fort Sunder in their honor, and then he had offered the Aern anything.

Kholster would always remember it. “Anything, sire?”

“Yes,” the king had boasted. “Nothing is too good for my brave army.”

The Eldrennai king had offered
anything
 . . . and Kholster suspected the king was Oathbound to provide it. As a soldier who had been a slave for millennia, whose people had been tortured and killed for sport by kings this one never even knew . . . what else could he do but ask.

“So what is it to be?” Zillek had patted him on the head affably. “A new barracks? More Vaelsilyn? Perhaps you'd like your own keep near Albren Pass or Stone Watch, a better staging area for defense against the Zaur?”

“Freedom,” Kholster had whispered.

“What?” The king had recoiled as if Kholster had transformed into a Zaur. “Don't be absurd,” Zillek had said, as if he were speaking to a naughty pet. “I like the idea of the keep. I'll give you the keep and send some more Vaelsilyn out there with you. Good. Now that's settled. Kiss my sword.”

In that moment, Kholster had felt the chains of magic binding him to his king fail. A tightness he'd never lived without fell away, and the breath he took next was the first he'd ever taken that truly tasted good.

A direct order from an Eldrennai superior had always brought instant submission from the Aern; part of the enchantment which had been bound into them from creation, but no longer. In denying them their freedom, ironically, Zillek had granted it. Kholster had been, for the first time in his long life, free to act as he chose.

Staring into the eyes of his king, Kholster saw his own realization echoed there. Next, he had done the only thing he knew how to do. Without any thought or plan, he had reached out with his right hand and grabbed the king's sword. Forged of enchanted steel, the blade should have sliced through his gauntlets and into his fingers, but it hadn't. It had shattered like glass, just from Kholster's desires: for revenge, for freedom, and to be something more than an exceptionally well-trained beast of war.

As he had hoped and planned through long years since the Battle of As You Please, Kholster had struck out with Hunger, burying its spike deep in Zillek's skull.

No.

Peering into Yavi's green eyes, Kholster came back to the present and saw himself reflected within. Blood from the fallen guard ran down from Grudge's hooked head, and dark stains ran up his arm.

“Kholster, are you all right?” Bloodmane and Yavi asked him in unison.

“You will never understand, Yavi,” Kholster said softly. “I see that now. Or maybe I'm the problem. Maybe I am the only one who still . . .”

No. I'm not. Bloodmane
, he transmitted mentally,
Please send word to the fleet. Tell them the invasion begins in three days. The Zaur will likely attack from the south, and we will come from the east as planned. We will crush the Oathbreakers between the two armies and then fight the Zaur.

Yes . . . Master
,
Bloodmane thought back.

Master. Kholster's blood chilled at that.

I am not your MASTER! If you don't want to do it. . . . 
Overwhelming loss filled Kholster as he communicated with the armor, a piece of himself as changed as the Port Ammond to which he had returned.
Then don't. Rise up. Fight for the Eldrennai if you want. Let their king wear you if you must, but do not call me Master! You are not my slave. You are a part of me. If you want to be separate, then so be it, but I have sworn an oath. I set the conditions upon which I would return and kill them all. They brought this on themselves. I pledged to see them dead and I keep my oaths.

Must it be so?
the armor asked.

Kholster did not answer.

He wiped the blood from his hands, smearing it across his jeans in a long, semi-clotted streak. Bittersweet, the scent of the blood oaks in bloom wafted over him on the chill night breeze, mixing with the aromatic hint of roses from the royal gardens. Yavi was still speaking in gentle tones, part conciliation and the rest subtle rebuke. Even one hundred years ago, perhaps, he might have fallen in love with her, but now she was too young and too naive for him.

“. . . and so that's just what I'm trying to say, you know, that none of us really understand how it feels to carry the weight tied to your heart, but . . .”

Kholster pushed himself upright, Grudge hanging loosely in his right hand. The maneuver brought him cheek to cheek with Yavi, the Eldrennai blood on his face leaving a thin red smear along her samir. Startled, she skipped back a step and the guardsmen reached for their blades.

“You have until three dawns have passed. I . . . or my representative . . . will uphold the Grand Conjunction the Eldrennai care so much about, delayed though it may be,” Kholster spat out. “One. Last. Time. Then our truce is ended.”

“But,” Yavi began.

“Prophecy or no prophecy,” Kholster bulled on. “By my own life and the lives of those who died still in Eldrennai bondage, I so swear, there will be war between the Aern and the Eldrennai until every last one of them is dead or . . . until I am.”

Yavi turned away. It was too late, and she seemed to know it.

Maker
, Bloodmane began.
Kholster. Please.

No
,
Kholster
thought back at the armor.
If you want to stop me, Bloodmane, words won't do it. Kill me, then refuse to accept my bones. My oath allows the Aern to stop if I'm dead. I leave this plane of existence or they do.

To Kholster's left, the healer knelt over the fallen guardsman. His eyes found the Aern's and they stabbed at him with their accusations. “He's dead. My magic should have been able to heal him, but . . .”

An eagle's cry sounded from the warpick in the general's right hand. “He was wounded by the grudge I bear, healer. No magic could save him, only strong medicine and a stronger will. He had neither,” Kholster replied wearily. “Let's get Prince Stump Ears to the palace before you lose another patient.”

The healer nodded, and the procession moved on.

CHAPTER 52

CLOSE QUARTERS

Dolvek's personal suite had been hastily rearranged to accommodate his two new guests. Though Yavi'd had her own set of rooms during her recent stay, all agreed that the Conjunction necessitated a certain proximity. The prince sat out on the balcony, attempting to perform his daily exercises and frustrating the ministrations of his attendant healer. Yavi found him quite entertaining. She made another circuit around the spacious quarters.

The suite was larger than one person could possibly actually need. Three doors led off to adjoining rooms: one to the prince's bedroom, another to a private guest room, the other to the prince's washroom. A steel door stood ajar, open to the hallway, its spell-seal currently disengaged. Yavi watched a small, bored spirit, the embodiment of the magic within the spell-seal, mimicking the prince from its perch atop the large bolt that could be brought across the door.

A new suit of crystal armor already hung on a mannequin set in what Yavi privately thought was a small shrine to Dolvek's military prowess. Weapons of steel, crystal, and other more exotic material hung in neat rows on the wall. Above the armor, a mystic rendition of the prince in full armor glowed brightly, sneering down at her.

Prince Dolvek's small military library occupied one corner of the room and held Kholster's interest to the exclusion of all else. He sat in the prince's reading chair, a map spread out on the desk before him, looking back and forth from it to the book he was reading. His warpick lay propped against his thigh for, she assumed, easy access in case a horde of Zaur managed to climb the battlements and storm the balcony.

How could her mother have ever been attracted to this Aern? A certain charm, a very primal charm, did exist there, but it was overbalanced by a hatred that confounded Yavi. “You're reading an updated record of public works?” she asked.

He nodded. “For the invasion. It will be much easier to capture the city or reclaim it from the Zaur if I know what changes have been made.”

“He's reading what?” Dolvek stormed in from outside, his healer protesting ineffectually. “How dare you? You sit here, in my home, enjoying my hospitality and . . .”

Kholster shut the book with a loud pop. “I think,” he said as he stood and walked to a bookshelf, “I will make this,” reshelved the book firmly enough to rock the shelf, “my son's art studio,” and turned, arms crossed, to the prince, “when I capture this place. He may never visit, but it will be nice to have one waiting for him all the same.”

“Do you have to threaten him every five minutes?” Yavi asked. Their bickering never seemed to end for long.

“I only speak to him when spoken to, Yavi. Is it my fault he refuses to keep his mouth shut?”

Yavi saw Prince Dolvek begin to open his mouth and spoke first to cut him off. “How is Irka? Any new sibs?” Kholster's broad grin took her by surprise.
He looks like any other parent when he thinks of his son
, she mused.

“He has a sister, alive, I hope.” His chest puffed up with obvious pride then deflated as some dark thought banished the light.

“You hope?”

“The Zaur take no prisoners. She went missing, apparently among Zaur. I had intended her to take my place at Oot.”

“You'd feel it if something happened to her, though. Right?”

“I like to think I would.”

“Tell me about her.”

It was on his lips to say no, she could almost see the words in outline on his breath, but he relented.

“She's something special. Females are rare among my people; each one is a treasure, and not just because of their scarcity. . . . They are a triumph over the Eldrennai—it was intended by our creator that all Aern be male. When she was ready I intended to make her First.”

“First?” Yavi asked.

“To bestow upon her my rank. More so than your half-brother, Irka, Rae'en has what it takes to kholster my people, and she was Freeborn. Don't think that means she'll be easy on you.” He pointed at Prince Dolvek. “You had best hope that matters are settled between our peoples before she becomes First. You'll be torn apart like a hunter who's stumbled across a mad irkanth defending her cubs. When . . . one day the Aern no longer need me, I will surrender my spirit to her and give her my strength, knowledge, all that I am, and she will truly be First. It's a process usually reserved for Incarna, but Torgrimm has allowed male Hundreds to bequeath themselves to their female offspring before. It's why there are nineteen female Hundreds now. He will grant me the same favor.”

“Aernese tale spinning!” Dolvek spat.

“See it so,” Kholster quipped. “Live long enough and see it so.”

King Grivek stood in the open doorway, a shadow across his face. “It's true, I'm afraid,” he said without entering. “I've seen it happen. It's why the Aern don't worship any gods, because their souls do not leave Barrone.” He stepped inside and closed the door gently behind him, leaning against it. Yavi felt the tension between Grivek and Kholster so strongly that it appeared to her eyes a spirit in potential, a powerful thing she could have unleashed with her magic. But it would be a wild and untamable creature, beyond her control. The spell-seal spirit sensed it too and hid behind its lock.

The king held his hands out to Kholster palms down and fingers splayed, a gesture of respect as old as the Aern—one that the Aern had been forced to offer their Eldrennai masters. “Kholster, I bid you welcome . . .”

“Spare them,” Kholster snapped. Confused, the king began to speak again, but Kholster interrupted him. “Your words, Eldrennai king, and your empty gestures. Do not break them on my battlements. They can neither take the castle nor storm the gates . . . so spare them; they are ill spent on me.”

“At least let me thank you for saving my son.”

“I did not save him.” Kholster's voice dropped in volume until it was barely perceptible. “If you must thank someone, your gratitude belongs to Yavi.”

Yavi's cheeks darkened. “No, Kholster,” she protested. “I could have never tracked how to help him without you. The antidote wouldn't have worked without your . . .”

“Do not shame me further.” Kholster stepped close to her, his body pressed against hers. She flinched, expecting him to grab her arms, but his hands remained at his sides. His words hissed into her ear, tiny impassioned whispers. “What you did with the information I gave you, with what you took, for good or for ill, is on your ears, not mine. Please understand that.”