Oathkeeper (55 page)

He isn't?

“They're back at it,” Dienox shouted, excitedly pointing at Port Ammond. “Everyone be quiet, I want to see this.”

*

Later, Kholster could not describe the battle. For Aern who wanted to hear the tale of Hasimak's battle with the Great Black Dragon, he would tell them to wait until Day Eleven of the New Year when he, with Rae'en's permission, would do an All Recall and share the memory. To any other being, mortal or immortal, he would only shake his head and tell them it was something about which he could not speak.

Coal went for the apprentices, and Hasimak stopped him, hurling a dimensional barrier between them. It shattered when Coal struck it, but then Hasimak was there with another and another, each growing smaller as his power ebbed. Zerris flew free with Klerris, fearing to feed the dragon's fire. Lord Stone raised the Tower of Elementals straight up into the air with his might, holding it in place as it once was, while Hollis flew inside to reach the Port Gates.

When the cold waned, Hasimak shouted a warning a heartbeat ahead of Coal's third breath. A small mountain formed of fallen buildings rose up between Lord Stone and the bright white beam. Hasimak threw up a shield, but he'd used too many, too often, and it was not enough. Stone evaporated, as did the Eldrennai who called himself its Lord.

The Tower of Elementals came crashing down again with Hollis, the Sea Lord, still inside. Hasimak's grief split the sky, lightning raining down upon Coal, electrical arcs crackling around the dragon in a corona of blue-white. Then the beam hit Hasimak.

He did not vanish completely; perhaps he shielded himself at the last possible instant. Limp robes torn and tattered, the High Elementalist fluttered to the ground as if he were no more substantial than a leaf.

Spitting the last of his volcanic breath into the sky, a flare of triumph, Coal hovered above his old foe, wings flapping . . . and then the ice began to flow. Used to his own breath steaming, the great gray dragon did not see it until the crackle of the condensing ice was a full story tall. Rising like a sculpture carved from ice, the Tower of Elementals rose, transparent and beautiful, powered and wrought at its center by the Sea Lord's magic and his rage.

“Impressive, young water wizard,” Coal chortled, “but I am tired of fighting today and I would not sully my old playmate's death with further injury to his students.”

Wings flapping, Coal struggled to rise, but then came the wind bearing down on him as if it had a grudge, because it did. Searching the sky for some sign of the Aeromancer thwarting his grand exit, he found the elven lass with the red-trimmed robes easily enough but squinted seeking out her sister.

He spat a mouthful of molten liquid at the huge construction of ice flowing toward him, but it was like trying to smelt copper with a match. Drawing in the cold as much as he could to power his breath, Coal spotted a female figure clad in white.

“Wind Witch!” he howled, spraying her with fire, the bulk of his flame reaching all the way to the clouds, surrounding her with fiery death. She did not fall.

Again and again he spat, but though she smoked and sizzled, robes burning away, the wind would not stop. Turning at last to Hollis as the tower of ice grew close, Coal threw his bulk at the tower, claws scratching great chunks away, opening cracks—but then the wind pushed him away. Particles of ice fell from the top of the tower, covering Coal's skin, becoming steam as they hit, but soon, the sleet-like pellets only melted, and then they began to stick. As the dragon froze, Lady Air, Klerris, clad in her sister's red-trimmed robes, floated down from the clouds, her sister's smoldering body clutched in her arms. Zerris had held off the fire as best she could, but even weakened by Coal's earlier exertions, there was only so much one Pyromancer could do to ablate a dragon's fire.

A tremendous spike of ice formed at the center of the tower, and Coal laughed.

“Well done,” he croaked in a hoarse roar as the tower toppled, the spike piercing his chest. “Well done.”

CHAPTER 40

GATEWAYS AND SECRET PASSAGES

If riding through the air with a Sri'Zaur on his back was bad, crawling through the cramped tunnels Tsan called the Gorge Entrance to Xasti'Kul (the Shadow Home) was far worse. Was everything shadow something to these lizards? Kilke was lord of secrets, too. Couldn't there be a Secret City or a Secret Passage? A Secret Road? Even a secret Secret Road . . . redundancy could be fun, couldn't it?

Mucus ran from his nose. Eyes red and rimmed with tears, Prince Dolvek understood how General . . . kholster Wylant must have felt over the years. If this much concentrated Zaur stink could so affect him, it would surely have killed her. Yavi had even taken pity on him and plucked a few of her head petals, braiding them into a mask for him to wear over his nose and mouth. It helped, but her scent was so strong on it that crawling behind her in the tunnel added a different kind of torture to the mix.

I will not ask how much farther it is.
Dolvek gagged, pulling aside his mask to spit phlegm onto the sticky tunnel floor. He thanked any gods who wanted his thanks for the gloves.
Not just hours of this
, he tormented himself.
We're on the second day.

My robe idea worked for carrying Yavi . . . but being mystic piggyback champion of the trip, glorified sky horse to the influential, is all I've done. They'll likely kill me and eat me in front of Yavi, and her last thought of me will be how much better an Aern would have tasted.

*

Wylant had not returned when King Rivvek and his kingdom in exile arrived, but the Armored and the Eldrennai already in place knew what to do. Grand tents stitched from animal hide and whatever could be found, repurposed, or skinned dotted the area outside the wall of Fort Sunder.

“Sargus,” Rivvek asked wearily, “is it just me or does it look like the Aern have made preparations to keep us alive and fed?”

“It does indeed, my king.”

Mazik, Bash, and his other soldiers moved out among the people, helping the young, the old, and the sick find their places, keeping those the Aern had already rejected as unsuitable to be Aiannai in the same camp with the king. Hours later. Bash arrived with kholster Rae'en, and it came as a sigh of relief.

Almost over
, he told himself.
Almost done
.

All his calculations, all the trignom tiles stacked in his mind had led to this moment. His people were at Fort Sunder. The Port Gate was near. They would be sorted. He would lead the unforgiven through the Port Gate, and whatever happened then his people and the Aern would be at peace with one another.

Tired but intent on making it through this last set of obstacles, Rivvek studied kholster Rae'en. She looked different now that she was Armored, as if the world could never touch her again as anything more than an inconvenience.

“Are your people settled in, King Rivvek?” Rae'en asked. She wore her father's warsuit, its helm under her arm, two warpicks on her back, the one made of pearlescent crystal and her father's first warpick, Hunger.

“Where is Grudge?” he asked, standing to offer her the lone chair.

“Entrusted to the Ossuary, for now.” Rae'en shook her head, refusing the seat, but Rivvek remained standing as well.

“If only all grudges were so easily put aside,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. There was not an inch of him that did not hurt. Close quarters magnified the smell of days on the road, and since his Hydromancers could not use their magic here, he did not avail himself of the offers to wash until all of his people had been given the opportunity to go down to the river and bathe.

“Right,” Rae'en sighed. “Okay. Look. How do you want to do this?”

“Sort us,” King Rivvek said wearily. “Tell me who is Aiannai and who is not. Of those who are not, I wish permission to lead them into the Port Gate here.”

“Why you?”

“I am their king.” Rivvek shrugged. “Why would I not lead them? Yes, Mazik and Bash, many of my soldiers, in fact, are better fighters than I, more experienced leaders of men, but I have been there.”

Of the two hundred thousand Eldrennai who made it to Fort Sunder after the destruction of Port Ammond, only twenty-seven thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven were unsuitable to be called Aiannai, at least provisionally . . . but that number comprised more than half of the trained soldiers and Elementalists.

They spent one night at Fort Sunder, said good-bye to their loved ones, and bathed in the half-mile section of river downstream from Bark's Bend, turning the river black. Packing as best they could for a long foray into enemy territory, they each took a blanket, a bedroll, two canteens of water, and whatever weapons or personal items they could carry in their packs. One in twenty had a Dwarven canteen. One in one hundred had an extra pair of shoes. Almost two hundred of them even had suits of Demon Armor like Jolsit and the king.

They rehearsed the Port Gate entry twice out on the training field in front of Fort Sunder's walls. Every other elf, alternating directions, left and right, moved forward and took up defensive positions to hold the gate if the Ghaiattri swarmed it.

“Let me go with you,” Sargus said in the candle mark break they had between practice and departure. “I can help. If you run into any problems, I can—”

“Protect my brother.” Rivvek put a finger to the other elf's lips. “Make sure he listens to Wylant or Bash. If he won't, I want you to kill him.” He handed Sargus a sealed scroll. “This will pardon him and declare him king.” He held out a second scroll. “This will renounce him and reveal Bhaeshal as my wife and heir.”

“But she isn't your—” Sargus balked.

“Of course she isn't, but how many elves already suppose that she and I are secretly lovers?”

“Will you do it, Bash?” Rivvek raised his voice, knowing she was near enough to hear.

“I was going to ask permission to go with you as well,” Bhaeshal moved closer to them so they could speak more quietly, “but this . . .”

“If Dolvek is not up to the task,” Rivvek said, clasping her arms, “the people will need you. They won't follow Wylant. The Elemental Nobles, should they ever return, have killed too many to ever rule peacefully. Please?”

She nodded, and that was all it took.

Almost there.

He pictured his plans, each completed task a trignom tile, in a row of a thousand tiles, already falling. The click of each step he took now, at the end, was the sound of the last tiles falling, forming the pattern he'd envisioned. A few adjustments had been made along the way, but it was all down to the alignment of these last few tiles, these final calculations. If one tile was out of place now, and he had failed to take it into account, failed to adapt, then it could all still fail.

*

“Any sign of demons?” Rae'en asked the king as they stood outside the Port Gate.

“No,” Rivvek, already clad in his demon armor, told her. “It is deserted, as if they all were drawn elsewhere.”

“Lucky,” she said.

“There is no such thing.” He bowed formally. “May I have your permission to open the Port Gate?”

“Before you do . . .” Rae'en sighed. How to say this? There was no way to apologize for killing his father. She wasn't even sorry, but there also wasn't a good way to say how much she liked his scars and offer him a “hope you make it back alive” tumble either. Who knew how he would take that?

He might applaud
, Amber thought,
and make everybody wait out in the hallway.

I don't want to hear this
, came from Kazan, Glayne, and the others.

Rae'en flushed.

“I hope you make it back alive,” Rae'en said, “and not just because that means you will be returning with the Lost Command.”

Rivvek narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Rae'en looked away.

“May I tell you something,” Rivvek said, removing his helm, revealing sweat already running down the scarred side of his face, “before I go, and have your oath that to the best of your ability, if it angers you, you will try not to take it out on my people?”

I wouldn't take that oath,
Bloodmane said.

“I will swear that it is currently my intent,” Rae'en answered.

“Intent is insufficient,” Rivvek said. “I am sorry, but I must take my words with me through the Port Gate unspoken.”

“You have my oath then.” Rae'en sighed. “Say it.”

“Your father sacrificed his life to release your people from the oaths he swore, and he made a freeborn Aern First so that you could have a chance to be truly free, to show everyone that Aern are more than the corpse-eating death machines Uled made them to be.”

Rae'en had never seen such fury in his eyes.

“My father gave his life so that he could appoint a king you would not immediately destroy.” Rivvek put the helmet back on, giving the signal for Bhaeshal and Sargus to open the gate. “You took his life when there was nothing forcing you to do so. The agreement you have with me could have been made with him, but you were too busy trying to show the world that you are exactly the thoughtless killers people like my brother accuse you of being. You may not blame me for your father's death, but do not forget that you are responsible for the death of mine, for I never shall.”

King Rivvek stepped first through the Port Gate, and his army of unforgiven followed him. Rae'en waited until the last of them were through the gate and it was safely sealed before slamming Hunger into the wall.

*

Well-lit was not something Yavi had expected of the Zaur and Sri'Zaur city. She'd been prepared for more cramped corridors and lizard stink, but the scent was mild in the city itself and if the Zaur and Sri'Zaur were a little strange, Yavi attributed that to the whole reptile/amphibian thing they had happening. Spirits here were comfortable and in good moods. This was not like living underground with Dwarves . . . from what she remembered of her mother's stories about the journey to return Irka to his father, the Dwarves shaped everything, taking advantage of the properties of stone but rarely letting a cavern remain natural solely for its pleasing aesthetic.