The Silent Army (20 page)

“I mended your wound. Don’t expect it a second time. It’s exhausting.”

“I had no idea you could manage such a feat.”

“Like I said. I don’t do it often.”

Merros muttered to himself, “I don’t know if I should thank you or strike you.”

Desh had a smirk on his lean face when he responded. “Go with the thanks. Striking a sorcerer is never wise. We have defenses.”

“Yes, well, then I suppose thank you is in order.” Merros was staring at his hand, moving his fingers, making fists, and frowning.

“As I said, keep working your hand or risk stiff fingers and a wrist that won’t turn easily. Not the best issues for a swordsman.”

Nachia nodded. She’d known that Desh could do that. She’d studied with him for a while; even if she seldom practiced even the simplest spells, she understood the concept.

“What made you suspect, Merros?”

“I’ve been a fighter my entire life, Nachia. I’ve trained and worked and even when I left the army I did some work as a mercenary. The only people I’ve ever seen fight that way were Sa’ba Taalor. They don’t swing their fists. They don’t…
move
the same way. She moved her feet along a man’s chest and broke him. It barely looked like she was touching him, but his ribs may as well have been crushed by a Pra-Moresh.”

He looked down at his hand again. “And the moves she made? Not every Sa’ba Taalor can do them. Swech told me she followed a god who believes in unarmed combat. I can’t say for sure if she was Swech. But when I said that name, she tried to kill me.”

“If there’s a way to know for certain, we’ll find it.”

“I’m going to have to examine her place. I need to know whether or not she had secrets in there. Gods! How could I be so damned stupid.”

Nachia shook her head. “None of that. She looked nothing like Swech. She had letters from Wollis March. She gave no sign that she was anyone else.”

Merros nodded, but his face didn’t say that he agreed. He was already wondering how best to approach her home and examine it.

“We can send the Inquisitors if you prefer. They are very, very good at finding secrets.”

The look that crossed his face was almost pain. “Yes. That would be for the best, I suppose.”

Nachia moved closer to her general. “I am so very sorry, Merros.” She could hardly be accused of being touchy, but she reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and rested her chin on the top of his head. Merros closed his eyes and took the comfort offered.

Desh waited a few moments before speaking again. “Should we discuss why it is that the Silent Army is now policing the Mid Wall for us?”

Nachia nodded against Merros’s hair and sighed. It was likely to be a long conversation.

There was nothing.

Pella stood by him throughout the process of him meticulously searching the body of the dead Dretta March. First Darsken examined her clothes and removed each item, carefully setting aside each of her numerous weapons. He scrutinized them, too, and noted that several of the items had poisoned reservoirs. There were also three metal vials that contained powders or fluids. Those were set aside as well, the better to let one of the sorcerers who dealt with potions examine them.

The body was female. There were no indications that she wore anything to hide who she was. If she were, in fact, a member of the Sa’ba Taalor, they had changed her appearance completely. Just to make absolutely certain, he peeled the flesh from one of her arms, examining the layers of skin carefully.

Pella tried examining the body with her sorcerous skills and came to the same conclusion. This was a human body. Nothing more. Nothing less. The cause of death was violent trauma and a sword through her chest.

There was one peculiarity.

While necromancy was forbidden in Fellein, Inquisitors were allowed to make exceptions and Darsken chose to use that loophole. The flesh was marked, the blood was employed and the air in the dead woman’s lungs was taken into his own in an effort to draw in any last remnants of her spirit that might linger.

There was nothing.

Darsken frowned and tried stronger magics, the sort that he used only when seeking to draw the spirit back to the body. It was a sorcery he did not like to use, but he had to know.

There was still nothing. Whatever had been inside the woman had been destroyed beyond his ability to find even a trace of her essence.

“Have you ever run across a situation like that before, Darsken?” Pella, who had been watching everything and writing notes for him could not quite grasp how that was possible. She was not alone.

“Never in my life. Not once.” He frowned and ran his fingers over the designs on his staff. “I have examined bones that were hundreds of years old and there was still something. The flesh you gave me from the dead soldiers who attacked, even that had some essence. It was how I identified the bodies. If I had not been told the name of this woman, there would be no way for me to know it.”

The body remained a mystery. It did not move; it did not reveal any secrets at all. On a few occasions a body might try to leave after necromancy had been employed and for that reason Darsken always placed a few markings on the corpses to be safe. He did so again, before he and Pella sought out the Empress. He needn’t have bothered. The body did not rise nor did it attempt to.

The body of Dretta March – born in flames when Swech needed a new form – remained unchanged save for the start of atrophy.

The Arkannen Mountain Range was close enough to see, but more than that, it was close enough to feel. The air moved between the mountains and swept across Canhoon. Anything left unanchored in the streets was taken by the breeze and carried over the side of the floating city and discarded down below.

The Sa’ba Taalor watched the objects falling from above with a wary eye. It wasn’t that long ago that a dozen or more screaming people plummeted from above and crashed into the ground with violent force. Even those that hit the river failed to survive the fall. It was simply too high.

The weather was going bad, at least for the people of Canhoon. The clouds were coming hard and hiding away even the hint of the mountains. No one was quite certain how far they were from the risk of collision. No one was happy about that fact, either.

The city continued on, moving at the same pace as ever and freezing as the cold winds howled along the alleyways and between the buildings.

The City Guard moved in squads now, backed by the Imperial Army stuck in Canhoon. There were no days of rest any longer and no times when they did not move in force, alongside the Silent Army, who moved of their own accord and spoke to no one and nothing.

Those who wanted to riot did not. They were either too afraid, or too sick.

The cause of the illness had finally been found, thanks to the poisons found on Dretta March’s body. Not all of the supplies for food in the city had been tainted, but most of them had. The levels were not enough to kill, but they were certainly enough to cripple.

The food provided for the Imperial Court came from Desh Krohan himself, who did not say where it came from but managed to supply enough to keep the palace running.

Along the far southern coasts the reports kept coming in of the black ships of the Sa’ba Taalor. They were brutal and efficient, but they were not immortal. The Brellar gave as good as they got, and sank several of the larger vessels using the speed and agility of their smaller ships and boats.

They took advantage of the tactics of the Fellein, and started using arrows lit with pitch to add to the damage to the black ships. They did not have to hit the enemy. They only had to burn their ships out from under them.

It was not a victory so much as it was a standstill. The Sa’ba Taalor were not taking new ground, but they were still overtaking the Brellar a few boats at a time. Every battle won came at a heavy price and the Sa’ba Taalor had a few tricks of their own. When the Brellar came close enough to fire arrows, their enemy returned the favor, and if the Brellar came too close, the arrows were replaced with grappling hooks that tied the smaller boats down while the Sa’ba Taalor boarded. The Sa’ba Taalor were as ruthless as the Brellar.

As bad as that situation was, the black ships running up the Parmahar River toward Goltha were worse. They seemed determined to kill every person they met, without exception.

Looks were deceptive. Many of the people they encountered chose to offer themselves to a new god. Those who were willing to learn the ways of Wheklam were spared and offered new chances they would have never seen otherwise.

To the west the remains of Lored’s army paused and licked their wounds. Guards were set and the remaining Sa’ba Taalor in the area took stock of their situation.

It was Blane and Praxus who built the raging fire and called for enemies of the Sa’ba Taalor. The mounts provided, having left several of their enemies alive.

Once the fire raged high enough to melt metal and the coals were a brilliant yellowish white, the bodies of the living enemies were offered to Ordna. They screamed, they burned, and in their dying they made themselves useful to the Bronze God.

There was no need for questions. Everyone already knew what was needed. The King in Bronze was dead and his replacement had to be chosen. Someone needed to lead the army of Ordna. The faithful would follow whomsoever was chosen, of course, but that decision had to be made by the god they all worshipped.

There was a glorious moment when the sparks and flames rose three times higher and flared until the nighttime sky looked almost as bright as daylight. The flames twisted around themselves and the embers and sparks from the great pyre roared and seethed until the visage of great Ordna was there for all to see. They did not prostrate themselves before their god but instead cheered and roared his name.

Great Ordna looked upon his followers and nodded. A moment later Pre’ru, the mount of Lored, let out a great roar and was transformed.

After a lifetime of service Pre’ru had been granted a second life as a mount. More time to serve and slay in the name of the gods.

Now, a third life was provided. No one asked why the mount was given the opportunity. The answer was simple: Ordna wanted it. Ordna was their god and spoke to them all with the gesture. What most already knew was that Pre’ru had often offered wisdom to Lored. That did not mean that Lored was weak or unprepared, only that Pre’ru had remained useful long past the time when most would have been dead.

Pre’ru stood and stretched her body. She was revitalized, reborn and made young again.

Under most occasions a Sa’ba Taalor crafted their own weapons and armor. That was still true, but the armor of the new king had been discarded when he moved on to a new life. Now Ordna found and replaced what had been lost, merely to expedite their journey.

Pre’ru had been born a male the first time and had served as a mount with male genitalia. Now Pre’ru was female. The king did not question this. Pre’ru was on a third life and was truly blessed by Ordna. Whatever the god’s reasons they were sufficient in the king’s mind.

“Gather yourselves,” Pre’ru roared, even as she dressed in her clothes and gathered her weapons. “We have enemies to find, to kill, and to offer to Ordna!”

The king’s followers roared their approval and one by one knelt to offer their fealty. The gesture was not necessary. No one ever defied the gods and those few who did were punished as befitted an unbeliever.

Still, King Pre’ru, Chosen of the Forge of Ordna and King in Bronze, accepted the gesture. It gave her time to plan her methods of approach. They had a long way to go and very little time to spare.

“We walk and we ride! There will be no rivers for our enemies to use against us. Keep your shields ready! Prepare your bows and spears! We shall build our war machines when we have reached our destination. Until then we are the machines of Ordna! Let our enemies tremble!”

Within the hour they were in motion, a great tide of soldiers led by a king freshly chosen by a god who had granted all of them the chance to see a godly vision.

They were renewed and they were ready.

The storm raged on. In Canhoon it was nearly a blizzard, but lower down, closer to the ground, the frozen water melted and spilled across the grounds as a heavy rain.

The storm was not really planned, but it was a blessing to the sorcerers in the City of Wonders. They had waited for a chance to strike against the Sa’ba Taalor and the storm allowed for cover and also made the task easier. Bending nature takes more energy than merely using what nature provides. There were surprisingly few villages in the area closer to the Arkannen Mountains. The weather was often vicious and the people on the other side of the breach in the mountains sometimes forgot that the mountain range did not actually lead to another nation. There were raids constantly, and after a time only the truly desperate remained.

Those few were killed by the Sa’ba Taalor as they ran through the mountains. Tusk and Tarag Paedori alike killed or converted, and their followers did the same. Then they rode on through the breach, moving as quickly as they could to position themselves at their final destination.

The Sooth had told the sorcerers when best to strike. Unfortunately, as sometimes happened, the Sooth lied. The great rain of lightning that cut the ground beneath the City of Wonders, that boiled the river and shattered stone, did not harm the great armies of the Sa’ba Taalor, which had already passed the area days before.

Still, if the armies
had
been there, it would have been an incredible victory for the Fellein.

Cullen sat on her bed and read the books she had been offered by the wizard. They were tales of the sorcerers of old and they included tales of the woman who had become part of the Mother-Vine and now, apparently, was sitting inside of her.

She used to know the woman’s name but it no longer seemed important.

“Her name is Moale Deneshi.” Deltrea spoke with an edge of irritation.

“Why are you upset, Deltrea?”

Her dead friend moved closer, casting no shadow and still seeming more alive than Cullen felt currently. “Because you are reading books when you should be talking to me.”