Oathkeeper (44 page)

Could it be true? Could the oldest known elf have been a prisoner for all these millennia to the same magic that had bound the Aern?

“Let it be known,” Rivvek began. “By Royal Proclamation, that on this date, Hasimak, Master of the Tower of Elementals, is free from all bonds, oaths, and responsibilities both private and public superseding all previous orders, proclamations, writs, and contracts. All that binds him, I revoke. Any laws restricting him in a way other than that applying to all Eldrennai citizens, I abolish. Do the Elemental Nobles concur?”

“We do,” they said as one.

“I was fine. Perhaps better off. But . . . very well.” Sitting down on the ground, Hasimak reached under the hem of his robes exposing heavily runed anklets on each leg that he carefully removed and set aside. Still seated, he withdrew similar pieces of jewelry from his upper arms and wrists. As he cast the articles aside, magic swelled within the ancient elf. His veins coursed with stone to the king's Ghaiattri-helmed vision. The air about Hasimak shimmered and popped. Flames rolled over and through him even as his skin took on a watery aspect.

Sighing with relief, Hasimak shed seven heavy necklaces studded with gems Rivvek did not recognize, which had hung beneath the neckline of his robes. Finally, with a delicate working of Hydromancy and Aeromancy Hasimak regurgitated an obsidian sphere the size of his fist.

Starlight shone from behind the Elementalist's eyes, his very essence thrumming with a power Rivvek did not recognize . . . not elemancy but another magic that rippled the air and set the king's teeth to humming. Just like a Port Gate? Rivvek remembered the reports he'd been given about Hasimak's shrieks when the Port Gates had been destroyed when the Armored had used them to spread themselves quickly to the watch cities. Had there been more to it than had met the eye?

“Am I required to allow those artifacts to continue to exist, Highness?” Gray bled from Hasimak's hair, leaving it a lambent white even as he gestured to the pile at his feet.

The objects themselves held dark, blood-tinged magic of a type Rivvek had only ever heard described . . . the sort of dark arts that had been used to create the Life Forge's aetheric soul hooks . . .

“No,” King Rivvek answered, “you are not.”

Expecting a dramatic blaze of light and color, Rivvek swallowed hard as the restraints, for that was all they could have been, withered under Hasimak's gaze, drying up like grapes unpicked on the vine until, shrunken and raisin-like, they collapsed to powder and scattered on the breeze.

“Thank you, Highness.” Hasimak closed his eyes, smiling as he breathed deeply. “I would have understood if you had desired them preserved for Sargus to study, and though I still believe we might all have been better off if you had done otherwise, I must admit I am exceedingly gratified you did not so instruct.”

“But, how—” Rae'en started. “I mean. This prey doesn't track at all. You're an . . . Eldrennai.” Rivvek blinked at the use of the word from Aernese lips. “You don't enslave each other.”

“Uled was a gifted lunatic,” Hasimak said without opening his eyes. “He was a serial defiler of all the virtues and morals my people hold dear. Such creatures start with the destruction of that which is closest to them before their interests wander into more exotic pursuits.”

“When your people are older,” Hasimak said, looking to the Tower of Elementals as if it made his point, “you may begin to comprehend how rare the combination of genius and madness that were his curse (and his gift) truly are. But we may yet have time to discuss such things. Let me say just this, since I have so long been prevented from so doing.

“Not all of the Eldrennai remained silent, kholster Rae'en.” Neither Hasimak's robes nor hair moved out of place as he lifted himself from the pavement. “I opposed your creation just as I attempted to stop Uled from experimenting with soul-binding magic and as I tried to stop his twisting of an entire species into a new one. Slavery was wrong then as it is now, and, though many thought nothing of it, I was not alone among my people. We who objected suffered for our beliefs.”

“But should the question arise, do not expect me to ask for your scars upon my back. I am Eldrennai, and though you recall only the recent inglorious fourth act of my people's time upon Barrone, I can recall our golden age, our triumphs of ages past, and I shall never lose hope that we might once again rise to be all that we were . . . rise to a glory seasoned in its maturity with wisdom, mercy, and enlightenment.”

“Remember this moment.” He reached out with his hand, and kholster Rae'en, warsuit and all, rose into the air. “I hold you in my hand with magic too ancient for your vaunted invulnerability to defeat and yet, just as despite all those—” he gestured at the spot where his mystic chains had blown away, “—ways in which I was bound, I could not be forced to turn my magic against the innocent, I will not, now, when nothing but my conscience binds me, use it to harm a single living being. One day you may understand the mercy strength requires.”

With another wave of his hand, Rae'en dropped gently to the ground.

“Hasimak—” Rivvek began.

“Lead the rescue efforts, King Rivvek.” Hasimak looked upon his monarch with warmth and affection. “My apprentices and I will buy you time.”

“Students.” Hasimak flared his hands outward catching the Elemental Nobles up in waves of violet light.

CHAPTER 31

BAY WATCH

Five Eldrennai flew over the sprawling melee below. Non-casters, both human conscripts or Eldrennai of limited magical ability, charged down from guard stations and the lower barracks. Crews of various ships or dockworkers tried to fight for their city or to merely make it out alive. No warm-blooded beings jumped into the bay in an attempt to swim for it as gray, black, and brown-scaled reptiles swarmed out of the water in a seemingly endless stream.

Aernese ships sank in the bay, holed by crews of the gray-skinned Sri'Zaur and broken apart by others from within. As the living ceased to be called so, Kholster reaped them. Whether they were reptilian or human, he sent the souls to Minapsis. Oathbreakers went on to Torgrimm for reincarnation.

Several Zaur fell, few at the hands of the motley defensive force, but several via misadventure. Sinking a ship from within was dangerous even for creatures who could hold their breath or breathe underwater.

Fulfilling his deific purpose became a secondary concern; Kholster could do it thoughtlessly. Perhaps rote performance was the nettle of concern growing at the back of Kholster's mind in addition to his other more pressing issues. Torgrimm had been thoughtful in the execution of his duties. Kholster pushed the thought aside and watched for signs of interference. He looked through the eyes of other Kholsters, too, but it didn't work as well as it had when Vander—“That hasn't been seen for nigh on a thousand years.” Nomi, her hair composed of living fire and hanging down to the middle of her back, appeared next to Kholster, who walked through the combatants even as others of him watched from the tops of buildings.

How did she decide which one was the primary Kholster
, he wondered.
And does she know she got it wrong?

Nomi wore loose-fitting trousers, her sandal-clad feet hovering two hands above the ground, putting her close to eye level with the eighteen-hands-tall Aern. She was still the same apparent age as when she'd stolen a portion of Dienox's godhood. Based on appearance alone, Kholster would have guessed she had not quite hit her second decade of life. Strikingly beautiful in an aggressive way, her eyes were warm but calculating, as if she could not help but take the measure of everyone and everything and felt discomforted by that trait. Her top was actually a wide scarf vest over a silk blouse.

Kholster did not know why it surprised him that she rarely donned reds or oranges to match her hair, favoring natural, earthy tones instead. A mix of ethnicities played in her features, but they were from a time before Kholster had been forged, and he only recognized some of the influences. Being a goddess had not changed her. Which was part of the problem, he realized. If it was a problem. Kholster had not yet decided if he had the right to declare such. Nomi was his senior, even if the thousands of years she had spent as a goddess had done little to expand her horizons.

Horizons.

One Kholster argued with Kilke. Another tracked Dienox's every movement. Another spoke with Aldo, and elsewhere, not far from here, the prime Kholster spoke to an old friend and tried to ignore the pain in his head and the way the world had shifted to black and white with so many different Kholsters going about their duties and so many other Kholsters doing things that did not involve the collection of mortal souls at all.

He'd had such grand notions of the conflict his apotheosis would necessitate, but the gods acted like spoiled nobility, plotting and scheming and committing their dirty deeds through intermediaries. They did not, unfortunately, all deserve to die. Xalistan and Gromma still did what they had done since their creations. They had taken on mortal aspects but rarely used them. Yhask and Queelay were largely guiltless as well. But the more human the god, the more that being had forgotten his or her role of guiding and enlightening mortals rather than playing games with them.

One last test
, the Prime Kholster told him.
We've questioned Aldo about the levels of interference that are acceptable. Tested them with Wylant. Now we need to know how much he's holding back.
Can you do it?

You ought to know the answer to that
, Kholster thought back.
You're me.

Our divergent perceptions are taking longer and longer to combine. Your plan should resolve the issues before we end up irreconcilable like we did with Bloodmane.

Are you going to take the Overwa—?
Kholster asked.

I am going to take one of them.

Kholster hated to think of the choice he had to make, but he needed assistance or more power . . . and the laws governing ascendancy precluded personal power grabs outside of the game they all seemed so interested in playing. Thousands of years of mystic enslavement, the need to work within the confines of his orders (or rules) while accomplishing as much of what he needed to get done as possible, even the need to find a loophole in an oath he or one of his soldiers had taken, had left Kholster with a surprising skill he had not realized he possessed until—

In short, there were rules, but there was also room for interpretation.

“Hello, Overwatch,” more than one of him said at the same time. It was almost time for the first god to fall. Just a few tests first to see if his suppositions were correct . . .

Perception shifting, Kholster noticed only distantly when the five Eldrennai, Hasimak accompanied by four Elemental Nobles, flew overhead on a wave of dimensional magic. Ozone and iron scented the air, carried on an unseasonably warm breeze. Klerris always had preferred summer air, and it left Kholster wondering if that was because her sister favored flame.

Flames . . .

Nomi's hand rested on Kholster's shoulder, warm and inviting. The sensation shocked him, sending him back to his first studding before his skin had adjusted completely to filter out variations of temperature. He wanted her, but that went without saying. Nomi was that sort of female; it was in the way she moved and breathed. Fortunately it had been millennia since Kholster had been unable to control such urges . . . and he was beginning to suspect that Wylant would prefer it if he saved that type of physical affection for her alone.

“I don't want your hands on me,” Kholster said simply. “We are not married and I am overfond of the sensation.”

Between steps he both summoned and was clad in Harvester, putting a nice safe layer of bone-steel between himself and the fiery goddess.

Are we reaping Nomi, sir?
Harvester asked.

Not her
, Kholster sent.
Not yet. Not at all if she behaves as I think she may.

“I think I'll take that as a compliment.” Nomi rubbed the fingers of the offending hand together as if feeling traces of him on the tips of them. “How are you doing? Torgrimm asked me to check in on you from time to time, and the last time I tried you were busy being married and before that, you were still getting settled in.”

Hasimak thrust out his hands, sprays of power invisible to the mortals below, but obvious to Kholster and Nomi, lurched forth to generate a rapidly developing shield. Gaining prismatic iridescence, the barrier spread from the edges of his palms, fanning outward and flowing down to seal off the docks. Some Zaur made it through, but the bulk of them crashed into the barrier.

Kholster, one of him, examined the source of Hasimak's power: a tightly woven cord spooling out as the ancient Eldrennai moved into position. Pulsing with dimensional energy from the few Port Gates that remained intact, the crackling thrum of the magic disturbed any being who passed through it. Birds flew around the cord, which stretched not only to the gates at Port Ammond, but also one lonely strand led back to Fort Sunder, and three others flowed Kholster knew not where. He could have known, but that was a snake's trail down which he felt no need to hunt.

Being able to know most anything so easily led to vanishing off on journeys of discovery, which left him wondering what he had intended to accomplish by seeking the answer out.

“Knowledge is not always empowering,” he whispered. “Too much can paralyze.”

“That does not sound like the answer to my question.” Nomi cocked her head, attempting to decode him.

One Kholster distracted Torgrimm. Another flew alongside Dienox pretending to marvel at the sight of Coal in flight. A third waited for Aldo to swap out his eyes to see the fight differently.

“How am I? My wife still loves me.” Kholster smiled. “My half-born son is happy. My warsuit is getting along very well with Irka, my artistic son, even though the two of them think I do not know. My daughter is coming into her own in a much different world than I imagined for her, but she wears my old friend and makes her own decisions. She could have enslaved him, but she did not. I am a proud father.”