Oathkeeper (39 page)

Klerris dropped to the ground next to the testing stone, the hem of her robe catching on the edge of the single rough quarter of the square hunk of metal. Rather than pull it free with her hand, her familiar, a winged hand composed of clouds, darted across the distance and slipped it free without a creating a snag. Klerris bowed low before Rivvek. Her sister, landing on one of the testing table's smooth sides, bowed identically.

Powerful females among the Eldrennai were used to dealing with chauvinistic males who valued them for their looks and intimidating talents alone, mistaking them for tools rather than people. Winning them over had been simple enough. He had admitted their wisdom. He had acknowledged their talent and political machinations of the past and then asked for help. It had taken time, but once they understood he was genuine, he had done the next most important thing: He valued their opinions, treated them as the superior elemancers and experienced leaders they were.

He could remember seeing the two female elves dueling in the tournaments King Grivek had held when Rivvek had been a toddler, back before the Eldrennai had realized the full cost of Wylant's destruction of the Life Forge upon Eldrennai magic.

They were two of the only old-school elemancers Rivvek knew who had managed to adapt to the new familiar-focused form many of the younger Eldrennai tended toward now. Both bore foci disguised as pendulous gems hanging from platinum necklaces. It was an excellent illusion, even when one noted the way the “necklaces” never swung from side to side, the chains delicately taut.

Despite the rumors Sargus had relayed to him about their courtly intrigues since those days, Rivvek had been surprised when they had attempted to seduce him, separately, and then together, but he'd passed that test as well. He attributed it to their many years of experience dealing with a different sort of male. Declining without giving insult was a skill he'd mastered quite well over the hundred-plus years since his own Grand Conjunction.

“Ladies,” he and Sargus had finally settled on the wording, “you offer me delights of which I may not in good conscience partake. Perhaps one day, when I have grown closer to your equal in wisdom. . . . Until then, however, I assure you I have nothing to offer in that area, and I am not so loathsome as to deal so unequally with those I consider my allies.”

At the back of the room and with a sound like a hammer encountering and defeating a melon, Lord Stone dispatched his final opponent, letting the second skin of granite he'd summoned fall away.

Fully half of the Eldrennai witnesses to his coronation lay dead. Rivvek fought back a cough, unable to trust it not to devolve into an insane cackle.

It's working
, Rivvek wanted to shout.

Yes, of course it's working
, he rebuked himself inwardly.
It has to work
.

All of those he'd considered to be the most likely to unseat him, to create uncontainable civil strife had been invited to attend. It was a smaller list than he'd expected, but a lot of that had to do with the successful inclusion of the four Elemental Nobles on his side of the battle, because without them he could not be sure Hasimak would go along with things, and though he'd never understood exactly why they held him in such esteem, he valued their opinions. If all of them agreed he must have Hasimak on his side, that Hasimak must view him as the rightful king, then he'd have Hasimak as well, even if it meant jumping through all those legalistic hurdles he'd tackled earlier.

But the apparent success of the first phase of his post-coronation plan, devised to save as many of his subjects as possible, did not mean he had failed to realize that his rule would be looked upon as the bloodiest reign of all time.

“Majesty?” Sargus hovered over his single target, the limp form of Hasimak, the High Elementalist, still breathing, but heavily sedated with some concoction of Sargus's. Sargus touched a thin dagger to Hasimak's throat, a question in his eyes.

“No.” Rivvek felt like an overtightened lute string that might snap at any moment, but he kept his voice even, his breathing measured, his expression revealing only what he wanted it to show: confidence. “I'll want him with me in the second phase, if he will agree.”

It was only after he'd given the order to spare the ancient Elementalist that Rivvek noticed the ebbing of a latent strike in the air around them. An air shield to protect Hasimak, earth and water to strike Rivvek down, and fire for Sargus.

The nobles would kill their friends and fellows but would commit regicide to protect their teacher. All four of them, without even the need for debate. Why? There was no time to question it now, but he would need to know before much time had passed. If they planned to overthrow him and put Hasimak in his place, Rivvek did not actually care as long as he made it to the final phase of his plan. Whatever happened after that would happen. The likelihood that he would still be alive to see what came next was the thinnest of hopes and the least of his worries.

*

“Second phase?” Rae'en asked. When the Oathbreakers had started killing each other Rae'en had stayed put. Even if guarding the throne had been meant to be ceremonial, it was her assignment, and by Kholster, if by none of the other gods, she intended to carry it out. Glayne had suggested a withdrawal, but she'd overruled him and was now glad she had.

“Ah.” Rivvek acknowledged his bowing Oathbreakers, walking down the four steps to where they stood and bidding them to rise with a hand upon each shoulder. By the time he'd finished with the first three, the other one—

The Sea Lord
, Glayne provided.

Had joined them and bowed in time to receive the king's (blessing?) touch as well.

“Thank you,” Rivvek told them each in turn, before mounting the steps again without any sign of fear that the four behind him, the ones who had done most of the killing, were any threat to him at all. As Rivvek approached Rae'en, his steps, his measured gait—not quite regal, but not far from it—were those of a conqueror.

“My apologies, kholster Rae'en,” Rivvek said, giving her a half bow before offering her his hand.

“It's fine.” Rae'en took his hand and stood. “The after-coronation slaughter wasn't on my event schedule, but I'm not complaining. I like to see Leash Holders die.”

Had he flinched at that?

“Of course.” Rivvek's smile was charming, even more so given the slickness of his bare chest, scars glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. “I know you were looking forward to a war with the Eldrennai, but once you have sorted through those you will accept and those you won't, I do not expect for there to be any further need for conflict unless it is one in which the Aern, the Aiannai, and the Vael fight together against the Zaur.”

CHAPTER 28

DOOM IF BY SEA

<> Dryga clung to the seabed, tapping commands in Zaurtol directly on the forehead of a Sri'Zaur whose scales ran to tones of light gray. Green bands, like seaweed or kelp, wended their way along the second hatchling of the third brood of Astur, flexing as he relayed Dryga's question in Zaurqal, the loud clicking booms from his chest and throat carrying to the other Lurkers.

How they made any sense of all that percussive sound underwater, Dryga did not know, but as Lurkers were one of the first specialized breeds of Sri'Zaur Uled had created, he did not insult them by doubting. Dryga caught a word, perhaps one in seven, but enough to guess how much the meaning of his message was altered . . . it sounded like the same sort of question, but . . .

It does not matter
, Dryga told himself.

Behind him, five thousand Lurkers lay in wait, spread across the seabed, with another five thousand Zaur making their way to their places. Dryga heard the response clicking in the distance but couldn't follow it through the underwater distortion.

<> Dryga tapped impatiently.

<> the Lurker tapped carefully on the side of Dryga's head, <>

Outer lids nictated in doubt, obscuring the pale glow of the Lurker's eyes as it asked something, waited incredulously for the response, head rearing back when it heard the same message as before.

<>

<> Dryga interrupted.

<>

Wasting breath with a burst of laughter, Dryga held his own muzzle closed with both forepaws in embarrassment as his air bubbles floated rapidly to the surface.

Could that be true?
Dryga wondered. Asvrin's Shades were the best and most deadly of the few Skin Tinters Warlord Xastix commanded. Always in small numbers and great demand, the Skin Tinters, like Flamefangs, could not breed true. The alchemical process creating them halted the reproduction cycle permanently, leaving them all sterile neuters.

Too many of them had died in clan wars Xastix had waged to unite all the coldbloods, Zaur and Sri'Zaur alike, under one Warlord.

<> Dryga asked. He waited long seconds for a reply.

<> the Lurker tapped, relaying the reply.

<> Dryga ignored the question. <>

<> the Lurker tapped, <>

Dryga managed to hold the laugh in that time, remembering what the human, Tyree, had accomplished with a sack full of junpowder. . . . Who knew what havoc his forces might be able to unleash with a larger supply? The warlord's alchemists had long ago solved the puzzle of the black powder, had even found ways to alter its color to match the Dwarven version, but producing the powder in any significant quantities resulted in Dwarven retaliation so swift and complete, they'd actually lost the formula the first few times they'd discovered it.

Could they prove it had been the Dwarves? Had they ever seen a single hair of their scheming little beards? No, but He Who Ruled in Secret and in Shadow had revealed the information to them, accompanied by instructions to stop development of the black powder and to beware any direct conflict with Jun's chosen people.

But if he could seize the existing supply and deploy it here, winning the war without the need for a protracted siege at Fort Sunder, what reward might not be his? A second chosen name would be his at the least!

<> A crab scuttled by on the seafloor, and Dryga resisted the urge to crack it open and feast. He could feel his air supply diminishing faster than he liked, gazing with naked jealousy at the rudimentary gills, so hard to see aboveground, possessed by common Zaur, flaring open as they breathed in the depths. Something even the Lurkers with their massive air capacity and specialized communications couldn't manage.

<> the second hatchling of the third brood of Astur tapped after an exchange with the other Lurker officers, <>

<> Dryga drew blood with the last tap of his claw and stifled a wince at the thin, dark trail rising up from the Lurker's forehead. Shifting higher and to the side of the wound, he finished his orders. <>

*

A cold wind stirred early fallen leaves along the corners of the storefronts and other buildings facing the Lane of Review. King Rivvek stood, the figurative jewel at the apex of the assembled mass of Eldrennai, clad now in decorated plate armor of Sargus's design, ready to address his subjects. Smoothed by an alchemical process Rivvek had not been able to follow, the plates were forged of folded tempered Ghaiattri hide, the leather lining crafted of the tender skin found beneath the demon's outer layer, carefully scraped and treated. Flexing his gauntlet, the king watched thin bone-steel cat claws slide out with a quiet click—a deadly display of razor sharpness.

Sargus expects me to survive all of this
, he thought. Pale gems embedded in the first knuckle of each finger on the gauntlet and its mates concealed a control mechanism, but that bit of artifice eluded him as well.

In a different world, if this had all happened sooner, when there were more of us . . . but now . . .

Sunlight caught the claw tips, picking out the color of the metal without glare or reflection. Pearlescent bone-steel had been worked in whorls across surface of the armor, smooth to the touch, beneath a layer of enameled chatoyance reminiscent of the technique Kholster had perfected millennia before. Decorations unlike those on an Aern's armor included the royal seal of Rivvek's house over his heart and a duplication of Kholster's scars on his back.

Standing to his left, a human child, one of Emma's ubiquitous sons, held Rivvek's helm on a pillow of blue velvet. The demonic cast to all Ghaiattri armor had proved harder to obfuscate there, leaving it with a striking resemblance to the skull-like helms that seemed ever the fashion with Zhan's Ossuarians.

Jagged edges had been smoothed and the brown color transmuted to steel with a muted amber hue where it caught the light, the fangs of the beast embellished with more bone-steel, upper and lower jaws meeting perfectly when the visor was closed. He had asked Sargus what the translucent crystal substance was that sat in the wide eye sockets of the helm, only to be informed it was probably best if the king did not know and have to think about it.