Oathkeeper (58 page)

Wylant landed like a comet, Vax drawn and at the ready, her flames visible despite her warsuit's helm, as if the magic desired the optimum display and adapted to the helm by mimicking in fire the same type of look achieved by the mane on Bloodmane's helm.

“You all stay over there,” Wylant ordered the gods who sided with Shidarva. “And you shut up,” she told Dienox as his eyes brightened in astonishment and he opened his mouth to speak. “And you—” she pointed two fingers at Kholster and Vander, “—are both in trouble.”

“I just got stabbed with a piece of the Life Forge.” Vander had taken a step back. “Everything else was Kholster's idea.”

Betraying me to my wife, I see
, Kholster teased.

It seems to make her happy, Kholster
, Vander sent, his thoughts brimming with mirth.
Permission to continue?

Within reason, Overwatch.

I do not understand the cause of all this amusement, sir.
Harvester thought.
Your wife is a formidable opponent and she seems very angry with you.

You presume that I intend to fight her?
Kholster thought.

“Another betrayal,” Shidarva screeched. “For whom shall you come next, Harvester? Do you have your eyes on the throne, perhaps?”

“At this point . . .” Kholster, still grinning from wolf-like ear to wolf-like ear behind his helm, lowered his warpick. “I would like to apologize for my behavior. I put Aldo's spirit inside an ant colony. Thus placed, it will be Gromma who collects his spirit next . . . as she handles the deaths of the less-sentient beings.”

From there it had been a matter of finding one reasonable voice, and Wylant had been elected. As the dead dragon flapped its wings, rising into the air on a breeze of magic, Gromma and the other primals turned to face the risen dead.

They feel it
, Vander thought.
The wrongness of it.

“Gromma,” Shidarva called to the goddess, but she did not answer. “Gromma, is what Kholster claims true?”

“Aldo?” Gromma muttered. “Yes, I have him. I will give him to Minapsis when he dies. . . . Unless he doesn't stay that way.” Springing up beneath her garb of leaves and hide, a steed of equine cast but built of vines and moss and other living things rose so that Gromma was already mounted. She rode to the city's edge.

“I think I understand, Kholster.” Xalistan growled. “You are right. This must not be allowed.”

Shidarva frowned at Kholster, and Kholster frowned back.

“Truce?” suggested two-headed Kilke.

“For now,” Shidarva said, and Kholster repeated. “For now.”

One by one the gods of Barrone left, each curious to spy out his or her favorite places and people to see if the dead rose to threaten them as well, until only Wylant, Kholster, and Vander remained hovering over Port Ammond, watching the waves of undead Zaur and Sri'Zaur freeing themselves from the ice and rubble, lining up in rows upon the broken span that had once been called the Lane of Review. Captain Dryga's body, its scaly hide parboiled and split open, stood atop the cracked steps that had once led up to the royal premises. Coal landed next to him, lowering his head to let the Sri'Zauran captain climb aboard.

“Is Coal's soul in there?” Wylant asked.

“No,” Kholster took his wife's hand, smiling when she swatted him on the arm. “None of those things have souls . . . except their master.”

“Uled?” Wylant asked after she thought for a moment. It was possible some other being might have conceived such an abomination, but she remembered what he'd said before she'd killed him, about a plan to fight the Aern, a plan that had involved altering Torgrimm. . . . “But how do we stop him?”

“I was hoping,” Kholster said softly, “that you would have a few ideas. When I realized what was happening, I could only think of one solution.”

“Well?” Wylant motioned for him to continue, relieved to know he had a plan. “What is the plan?”

“You are,” Kholster answered. “You always win.”

“Bird squirt,” Wylant cursed. Closing her eyes, Wylant took a deep breath and asked herself one question: How do I kill what is already dead?

Kholster Wylant,
Clemency thought.
If you have a moment, I believe Vax and I might have an idea.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This is all Richard Iversen's fault.

Almost a decade ago, Rich said he was going to run a role-playing game and didn't. As a result, the character I was going to play ran rampant in my imagination until a world was populated with new races, cultures, and a pantheon all its own. I didn't wind up using my character as the focus of the trilogy, but Caius does make a small appearance. You can also blame Rich for the thermodynamics of my dragons. When I asked what would need to happen to extinguish a hurricane, Rich answered me. Thank you, sir.

I was given so much help and understanding from so many people I will undoubtedly omit someone, but I'll do my best. Thanks to Rene, my editor, for extreme patience. Thanks as well to Rob and Mary Ann for being my alpha readers on this one when I was so far behind they only had a week to do it. The debt of gratitude I owe my wife, Janet, would require its own volume to complete. It was love at first sight, and she is still putting up with my hijinks two decades later. Thank you to the Friday Night Crew (all of the above plus Amy, Dan, and Karen) for cheerfully accepting many canceled and/or abbreviated Friday evenings so that I could take extra time to write. My sons get a special thanks. They have taught me so much and I love them so dearly. Thanks to my mom and dad, because existence is a requirement for writing, and without them, I wouldn't.

Lastly, I would like to thank the readers. I would tell these stories anyway, but without you, I'm just scribbling in the dark.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. F. Lewis is the author of the Grudgebearer Trilogy and The Void City series. Jeremy is an internationally published author and thinks it's pretty cool that his books have been translated into other languages. He doesn't eat people, but some of his characters do. After dark, he can usually be found typing into the wee hours of the morning while his wife, kids, and dog sleep soundly.

Track him down at
www.authoratlarge.com
.

Photo by Janet Lewis