Grudgebearer (61 page)

There is only one way I can think of to make it work
, Bloodmane continued.
If the College will consent to allow access to the Port Gates in the Tower of Elementals, we could deploy seven Eldre . . . Oathbreaker teams through the gates.

Those cowards?
Kholsters thoughts brimmed with disdain.
They won't want to risk the possibility of a Ghaiattri coming through one of the ports while it's open.

There is no other option.
Bloodmane wished there was one.
Unless you . . . ?

I'll evaluate your plans, old friend, but don't expect me to help you help them any more than that.

So you do see another way?

Tell me more about your plan
.

Bloodmane squelched the desire to ask more of Kholster.
We'd have to use the Port Gates sparingly. I would station fifty warsuits in the chamber, and we would only access one gate at a time.

You should be able to accomplish
, Kholster sent,
six or seven transports before the Ghaiattri become an insurmountable problem, but you're still looking at definite small-group contact.

No more than one or two, Kholster.

It only takes two. A single Ghaiattri your combined forces can handle, but not without paying a price for it, a price that might impact my troops if the Ghaiattri use soul fire, which you know they will. If two come through . . . just two . . .

It would be a new Demon War
, Bloodmane replied.
Two will not come through
, he added confidently.
I will not allow it. I will then send one thousand warsuits down the northern tunnel. Once they have progressed sufficiently, we will seal that tunnel as well.

And if I take casualties from a fight at which my Aern are not even present?

I . . . 
Bloodmane had not considered that.
Do you wish to order me not to—

I'm not giving you any orders at all
. Kholster's thoughts seemed strained. There was something in his tone.
I just want you to know that if I lose Aern in this, with my own warsuit helping the Oathbreakers. . . . It's on your helm.

Kholster, I—

Your helm. Now, what of the other forces?
Kholster asked.

Half of the force will remain to defend Port Ammond. I am dispatching two thousand warsuits to the Vael territories to reinforce their own defenses in case the Zaur plan to assault them as well. We must assume the Zaur have numerical superiority.

The Zaur always have numerical superiority
, Kholster transmitted.
It's a good plan. Once those tunnels are closed, will the sealing groups spread out in search of other tunnels?

Yes, I'm also dispatching Crystal Knights and Aeromancers as air patrols to spot suspicious activity.

The Crystal Knights won't like being used as scouts
.
Kholster sounded pleased at that.

They would like being dead less
, the armor retorted.

“Have you been listening to a thing I've been saying?” In the room, Prince Dolvek's face was flushed with red.

“No,” Bloodmane admitted easily. The irkanth-head helmet turned, taking in the room, meeting one by one the gazes of all present, crystal eye to organic. “I can see by the faces of those assembled that it is a bad plan. I expected nothing from you, honored prince, but a plan rife with glamorous conflict and needless deaths. You are a fool, and if the assembled did not sense it before, they know it now.”

Jolsit, the captain of the guard, and Hasimak, High Elementalist of the College, were the only two who managed not to look relieved. Bloodmane raised his arm, pointing a gauntlet finger at each of them in turn. “Jolsit, you are my new second-in-command. I am relieving Prince Dolvek of his leadership responsibilities and rank. He has much to learn, and he will learn it as your aide.”

“I will not!” Dolvek smashed his fist into the table.

“Failure to follow the orders of your commanding officer is a serious offense.” Bloodmane spoke passionlessly. “I believe it can be punishable by summary execution in times of war.” The armor reached back of its shoulder and gripped Hunger's haft.

Dolvek nodded, his black bangs falling in his face. He managed a “Sir, yes, sir,” but it came out choking and weak. No one in the room laughed, but Kholster's amusement was evident from a chuckle that Bloodmane heard clearly.

“Hasimak,” the armor continued, “are there any mages left who have the ability to activate the Port Gates?”

All heads turned to face the wizened Elementalist. Hasimak was one of the few Eldrennai Bloodmane had ever encountered who actually looked old. Faint lines showed on skin that had been smooth for millennia; his black hair was streaked with white and gray. The voice that left his lips was musical and concise, sounding younger by far than the aged exterior would have suggested. “Three, counting myself. I always maintain a minimum of three, but not to open the gates. I train them in case one should open so that the memory of how to force them closed will remain. Of course all recruits receive some basic training, but nothing I would consider completely reliable. It is forbidden to open the gates.”

“Then you will all die.” Bloodmane lowered his gauntlet, thrumming the fingers on the table in an approximation of the tell-me-I'm-wrong stance Kholster had often employed in similar situations across the wars the two had fought together.

Eight Eldrennai bored holes into Hasimak with their gazes. Hasimak's eyes locked with the armor's crystal eyes, but warsuits do not blink. “Could you tell me why we need to use them? If I understood that the gain outweighed the risk . . .”

“Of course, High Elementalist. This is what I have in mind . . .” Reluctant initially, the gathered commanders began to nod their heads as he explained.

They had questions. Bloodmane had expected questions, but what he had been unprepared for was the immediate acceptance of his own role as general. He had seen these looks before. He remembered them from previous wars, in some cases on the exact same faces. Jolsit made the same insightful, refining queries he'd made in the distant past. The Elementalists had the same concerns as always. The only thing lacking was the comfort of his bearer, enfolded safely within his metal casing, warming him from within, providing guidance.

He remembered the sight of Kholster's burning flesh, as their spirits collided and rejected one another. Bloodmane had hoped that spending time with the Eldrennai, seeing the infighting, the prejudice, would change him back to the way he had been, make him hate them irredeemably once again, but it did not. They could change, were changing, had changed. All they required was assistance in completing their transformation, rooting out the final threads of stupidity and misinformation.

If only Kholster could change too, then Bloodmane would not have to fight those he now protected once the Conjunction was complete. Bloodmane watched the Eldrennai in the room, all confident, sure they had a chance, and wondered what they would think if they realized that in a handful of days he and his warsuits would turn against them, crush them beneath their metallic heels and wipe them from Barrone like an unsightly growth. Such, the armor told himself, is war, and he tried to think of it no more.

“Kholster?” Jolsit asked. His face looked pained.

“Yes?” Bloodmane asked.

“Isn't that a waste of . . . ah . . . war material? You and your fellow warsuits are powerful, but even in an enclosed space, one thousand are unlikely to hold against the many thousands of Zaur that surely inhabit the tunnels.”

“We will only need to hold them back long enough to get Geomancers into the correct position to expose the central cavern to the air. The presence of warsuits will ensure the largest number of Zaur militia are present when this happens.”

“And then?”

“Live long and see your answer,” Bloodmane said mysteriously.

This
, Kholster sent,
I suppose, is the point where you ask if you can enlist the aid of my friend . . . the dragon?

About that . . . 
Bloodmane replied. The plan could work without the dragon, it could, but the losses for the warsuits would be dreadful. Bloodmane thought of Coal, the great gray dragon and hoped against hope he could convince Kholster to lend him Coal's aid.

CHAPTER 57

WAR STORIES

“Commander Jolsit,” Dolvek said brusquely, as he entered his superior's quarters. A fraction of the size of Dolvek's own rooms, the older Eldrennai's living space was sparse in decoration. His bed, a small desk, and a chair took up most of the room. Weapons hung from a rack bracketed to the wall over a large, plain metal trunk. Two armor racks stood next to it. Jolsit looked up from his position kneeling over the open trunk.

He wore a suit of curious-looking armor, dark orange, nearly brown, like the dead leaves of winter. It resembled plate armor, but the vambraces, greaves, and sabatons looked more like bone than metal, while the rest of the armor seemed likely to have been fashioned from individual scales fused together. The helm, which rested on the floor near Jolsit's knee, struck Dolvek as equally bizarre, like a great horned skull had been emptied of its gruesome contents, polished, and refitted as a helm.

“Ghastly, isn't it?” The commander stood, gesturing to his armor and then the helm. “From the Demon Wars.” As he crossed to the bed, Jolsit appeared to flicker a hand or two to the left or right with each step. “It's made from a Ghaiattri primus, one of their elite infantry. In the last years of the war, Kholster had them made for the Eldrennai who fought with him at Keirryn's Peak.”

“To close the last open Port Gate,” said Dolvek, hoping he didn't sound too awestruck. “And retake the final shard of the World Crystal.” He hadn't realized Jolsit was . . . quite that old.

Jolsit nodded. “It's magic-resistant but doesn't hamper the wearer's spells, and it's as strong as enchanted steel. It holds up against the eccentricities that disable crystal armor when fighting against the Zaur, too.”

“It's magnificent.”

“It's unnatural.” Jolsit sighed. “When you wear it, the walls between this world and the Demon World grow thin to your eyes, and you see things . . . sources of magic glow. Smells come over wrong, and you can't help but feel like the armor's going to reanimate and eat you. It's physically comfortable, though, lighter than it has a right to be, and it makes sense to wear it if we're going anywhere near a Port Gate—open or closed.”

Dolvek nodded. “General Bloodmane says that he and his warsuits are ready.”

Jolsit picked up his helm. “Let's not keep the general waiting.”

The two walked in silence along deserted streets that were usually filled with traffic, humans heading to and from their various jobs, harbor traffic, soldiers doing their turn on city patrol. The patrol was still running, but now people were keeping to themselves, or, rather, they were collectively avoiding the royal tower.

“They're afraid,” Jolsit said, as if reading Dolvek's thoughts. “For two days, the Aernese warsuits have walked the streets. Word has gotten around about Kholster and the guard he killed. People are worried. And scared.”

“We can beat the Aern.”

“No,” Jolsit told him flatly. “We can't.”

“Wylant beat them at the Sundering,” Dolvek argued.

“We were lucky; she was a monster, and there is no longer a Life Forge to shatter,” Jolsit said. Outside the Tower of Elementals, the Eldrennai soldier touched its smooth surface, reciting his rank and a prearranged code. White stone melted away, revealing an open passage into which the two Eldrennai stepped. “Flight gave our Aeromancers an advantage, as it did the Crystal Knights, but the rank and file cannot use spells so effectively for long. If we fought them now, without their armor, then our archers would give us an additional edge, but if I know Bloodmane . . . um . . . Kholster, I mean . . . the Armored will keep coming after us even if it takes a thousand years to win. They don't really die, you know. You stuff their bones back in their armor, add blood, and poof . . . instant Aern.”

Dolvek mulled that over in silence.

“It was the right move, destroying the Life Forge,” Jolsit said reservedly. “A particularly hard move, but the right one. Even after millions of them died, the surviving five thousand Aern marched on. Then, Wylant had the Crystal Knights raid the crèches of the unborn Aern, steal the unawakened lumps of metal. She threatened to destroy them, too. Melt them down. Kholster acted like he was proud of her. Each monstrous act she took made him bloom with praise.

“Near the end we tried surrendering, but they wouldn't accept our surrender. Kholster gave the order to advance. You could feel the tension; everyone knew we were standing at the final Port Gate, as the saying goes, but . . . Aldo knows I'll remember it to the last day. . . . We were saved by a little scullery slave, Merri. She floated down from the tower, still holding her mop and bucket. She was a beautiful little thing, the guards used to pass her around . . .” Jolsit's voice trailed off in sudden embarrassment.