Oathkeeper (57 page)

“But he'll make the pain stop,” Xastix said in his own voice.

“I'll make the pain stop,” the other voice snapped. “Now do it.”

Wedged-shaped head cocked at an angle, Tsan began to back away from her warlord.

“Well done,” Kilke's head said from its place on the Throne of Scale. “Pour the blood upon the throne and I will bless you with—”

“You lie,” the other voice spat. Xastix snatched up the Eldrennai skull and the vials moments before lightning fired from Kilke's eyes, hurling Xastix across the room. Crushed between his chest and the skull, the two vials broke, smearing the skull with blood. Where they mixed, lines beneath the surface of the bone shone silver.

“Don't!” Kilke shouted.

“Last sample.” Xastix wiped the blade across the skull, then spat his own blood upon the bone.

Flesh ripped itself from the warlord's body in ragged strips. Jagged lances of bone thrust through skin and organs on its way out of the mighty Sri'Zaur's body, his screams filling the auditory receptors and mind of General Tsan. Nothing, in Tsan's estimation, could have been worse than the sound of the skull's laughter.

“Reptilian error? That's what the boy called you all?” A cruel voice croaked from lips formed of stolen skin and cartilage with a tongue still as forked and gray as it had been in the mouth of its previous owner. “Error?”

General Tsan's eyes widened.

The Weed was right
, she thought desperately.
It's time to get the hells out of here.

She tried to run, knew she should, but her body would not turn. Her slit-pupiled eyes could not help but watch as a crude yet increasingly elegant skeleton wove itself together from the flailing near-corpse of her warlord.

“Error?!” the thing taking shape before her shrieked. “I make no mistakes! I make discoveries!” It nodded to itself, raising a hand held together by veins and wriggling ligaments into the air. “Such things I have learned no other being on the whole of Barrone was brave enough to master. Not before me and not after!

“Hasimak may have discovered the Port Gates, but I have created a new state of being!” Parts of the warlord's scales flowed like liquid, settling into an approximation of smooth Eldrennai flesh, but not all of it. One eye transformed into a perfect elfin eye with a dark-brown iris then settled itself into the ocular orbit, muscle and nerve endings reattaching themselves like snakes latching hold of their prey. The creature's left eye stopped mid-transformation with two pupils off center in the orb, one matching its elfin mate, the other bright green with a slit pupil.

Tossing its head back in triumphant joy, the thing shook its head as long trails of thick, black head petals sprouted from the skin and muscle attempting to cleave to the skull. As Warlord Xastix's screams died away, first in her auditory receptors and lastly in her mind, General Tsan's body began to move: first the shifting of one hind leg, then the other, and the spell was broken.

“Dead, am I?” the creature roared. “Dead once. Born twice, but now . . . something new.” The warlord's lovely scales had become a hybrid of Zaur and elf hide, with dark-brown scaly patches outlined in pale, perfect Eldrennai skin slipping into place with a soft sucking sound where the interior assembly of meat and bones was complete. “Neither dead nor alive. Beyond the reach of Sower or Reaper!”

General Tsan backed away as the entity stuck out its forked gray tongue past a newly grown nose, narrowing its gaze as the forked ends melded together, the whole mass of muscle thickening and becoming more elfin without losing its color.

An odor like burning hair and sizzling fat hit Tsan's nostrils, joined by the sickly sweet aroma of decaying meat.

Smiling with rictus glee, revealing a mouth full of bone-steel teeth, the being waved its skinless hands in time to music Tsan could not hear, humming snatches of the music, as it conducted its own construction, nodding, swaying, and gesturing to different points in the throne room as if keeping time for an unseen orchestra. Using the reflection it saw in the polished bronze mirror that lined one wall of the throne room, the coalescing thing shifted to accept organ after organ.

Tsan's tail twitched nervously as the intestines coiled, spewing out their contents onto the floor of what had once been the seat of Zauran and Sri'Zauran rule.

No more
, Tsan thought.
We are all lost now.

Not quite
, Kilke's voice whispered in her mind.
Take me and flee. Take with you as many soldiers as you can. You are Warlord . . . No, Warleader. I don't care what gender you are, so long as you can plot and scheme and strike. Can you do this? He will only be distracted for a little while longer.

What is he?
Tsan thought, leaping over the churning remains of the warlord, claws scrabbling for purchase on the blood- and fluid-slick tile. One false start, and Tsan landed on the throne, hovering over the severed head with its golden scales and curled ram's horns.

An abomination
, the god purred.
No time for reverence and obeisance now
, Kilke urged.
Pick me up and run.

Can't you protect me?
Tsan asked.

I can make you stronger, faster. I can even let you remain female for the rest of the unnaturally long life I will grant you
, Kilke promised,
but first you have to get me away from that creature of death. He is new, and my power over him will remain limited until I understand exactly how this came to pass. Torgrimm is an unbroken circle of death and birth.

Nearby on the lone surviving table of artifacts, several items drew Tsan's attention in quick succession. Brssti's Axe, forged from metal that fell from the sky, worked by Kilke himself. Made to be wielded in two hands when standing upright, yet capable of splitting into twin hand axes for quadrupedal strikes.

Mere legend-making
, Kilke hissed in her mind,
It's made from a rare Dwarven alloy. I only told Brssti how to work the metal and design the apparatus that allows it to come apart and rejoin.

Tsan seized the axe, the silk beneath sliding under her touch to reveal the naked quartz tables underneath. Gathering in the air over the still-shifting form of the thing composed of Tsan's warlord's corpse, the silk cut itself with delicate precision, unraveling in strips to form thread with which to sew itself.

He's almost complete
, Kilke shouted in Tsan's mind.
The pack Warlord Viax used, it skidded behind the throne when the Vael and the Eldrennai escaped. It can hold more than it appears to hold, at one-tenth the weight. Put me in it so your forepaws will be free. Bring the axe and grab Warlord Ryyk's armor, if you want—it's the necklace that looks silver and has the sapphires—just trust me, I'll explain how to use it later.

“But the armor of Warlord Ryyk was lost,” Tsan muttered as she snatched up the necklace. Slipping the necklace on, she dropped behind the Throne of Scale and found Viax's pack exactly where Kilke had said it would be. She tore open the flap before unceremoniously snatching the head of her god from the throne and thrusting him inside, muttering apologies as she did so.

Actually
, Kilke thought at her,
the armor only works properly for a Justicar of Kilke. Which brings us to my offer from earlier. You know any Sri'Zaur who might like the strength of ten, an immensely long and gender-locked life, and the gratitude of their god?

“And all I have to do?” Tsan hissed as she ran through the tunnels of home.

Is agree to accept it
, Kilke answered.
I led Warlord Xastix along the fool's path because I wasn't sure what was wrong with him. His soul was twisted, that I could see, but I'm not the god my other heads are.

“Other heads?” Tsan lost her footing as a loud explosion shook the tunnel. She dove over falling debris, twisting clear of a huge mass of bronze as it rocked free of its mounting and crashed to the floor. “But you are Kilke.”

I'm One-Headed Kilke.
Kilke's thoughts were angry and bitter, causing bile to rise in the back of Tsan's throat.
The gods have (or had) multiple natures. Before Shidarva took my throne I was Three-Headed Kilke, the god of secrets, shadow, and one other thing: The reason I was cut off and thrown from the heavens, the reason Shidarva feared to rule with me still amongst the gods.

So
, Tsan thought back at the god in her backpack,
what were you the god of?

Power
, One-Headed Kilke whispered.

Tsan burst out into the grand auditorium where relays waited with ready tails to send forth the commands of their warlord. Staring at her with frightened eyes, they shook, their gray-scaled bodies quivering.

“The warlord?” asked the bravest of them.

Tsan looked out upon the cavern, chosen for its pristine acoustics, knowing that below in other tunnels were other Relays waiting to issue commands.

You will never have a better chance to seize power
, Kilke tempted.
You can lead them out of here. Regroup. Prepare and then come back to drive out that thing that clothed itself with your warlord's meat.

She closed her eyes and shook her head at the Relay.

“What happened?”

“I don't know, but I do know this.” She paused. “We need to run. I can lead you to safety, but we must go now.”

I accept
, Tsan thought to her god.

*

Cadence Vindalius and Randall Tyree found themselves sitting in yet another part of the Zaur tunnel system. Very close to South Watch according to Tyree, but he'd been saying the same thing for the last two hours. Dead Zaur lay about it, rotting in the stale air. Kazan stood next to them, waiting for the other Overwatches to pick through the corpses for any remaining good meat.

“I guess that's it,” M'jynn yelled. “All of this is too rotten.”

“Not all of it,” Joose said with a mouthful of questionable meat.

“I'm done, too,” Arbokk said, standing up from rooting around in a Zaur's abdomen for liver.

No one expected the dead Zaur to sit up, but it did.

Arbokk jumped free, swinging Charming, his soul-bonded mace, at its skull, knocking it away. It was not the only body on the rise. Alberta whinnied nervously, and Tyree's pack animal ran headlong down the tunnel, not looking back or slowing when Tyree called.

“Have you ever—?” Cadence asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Tyree quipped.

“The dead don't just get up and walk around.” Cadence jumped up and was already putting distance between her and the dead. “Torgrimm wouldn't . . . stand . . . for it.”

“Maybe Kholster hasn't read that far in the training booklet,” Tyree said. “I like to think they have one. You know, after Nomi became a goddess, I picture Shidarva and Aldo getting together and writing out a guide.”

One by one, the fallen reptiles rose, some picking up their weapons, others their missing body parts, reattaching them when possible.

“Run?” Tyree asked. “My plan is run.”

“Run,” Cadence agreed.

Behind them in the tunnel, the Aern ran and the dead walked.

*

Miles away, Teru, Whaar, and Alysaundra scouted among the ruins of Port Ammond, gathering the melted bone metal that had comprised Glayne's weapon. Finding the bones of the Aern who had fallen defending the dockside warehouse had been easy, but Glayne's weapon had been airborne when it melted, and droplets of bone-steel appeared to have scattered far afield.

“Do we have to get all of it?” Whaar asked.

“Only what you can sense,” Alysaundra answered, using her warsuit Bone Harvest's fists as sledgehammers to break up a section of wall under which a large part of the weapon lay.

“But we can sense all of it,” Teru groused.

“Then you have your answer.” Alysaundra laughed.

Stopping a moment to let the dust settle more than to rest, Alysaundra caught herself looking out of the city to where the body of Coal, the great black dragon lay. She wondered what had dealt him such a blow.

“Hey,” Whaar said, pointing at three grave markers, “these are new. After the evacuation, I think.”

Someone had water-etched the stone.

“Zerris, Lord Stone, and Hasimak,” Whaar read. “Dragon slayers.”

Teru heard the first scrabbling sounds of fingernails on stone, as if someone were trapped, trying to claw their way to the surface.

“Hey, Alys,” he called. “I think someone's trapped under here.”

“Wharf rats,” she said. “Keep looking.”

“Okay,” Whaar said. “Now I'm hearing it.”

More scrabbling.

Dead Zaur came from the sea, struggling out from under the rubble whole or in pieces, covered in dirt and detritus, some caked in dried blood, others still tacky. They made no sound other than the scrape of limbs that should not move scraping along the ground.

“Alys,” Teru shouted. “Let's move.”

Tell Zhan's End Song we're going to have to come back for the bone-steel, okay?
she thought at her armor.

He wants to know why,
Bone Harvest intoned.

Alysaundra heard a tremendous shifting and turned to face it. There, in the rubble, Coal was struggling onto his side, the dragon's heart still and unbeating, plainly visible through the massive hole in its chest. Like flickering candles, its eyes lit once more with a guttering blue flame that spread along its scales until its wings began to stir.

“Coal?” Alysaundra asked.

“Yes,” the dragon slowly croaked, “but you should run, little Aern. Run fast and far, for I fear I am not my own.”

*

The gods watched as the dead rose, turning as one to Shidarva, Kholster, and Wylant. She had come in shouting and giving orders, chastising all parties, truly a goddess of Resolution.

As soon as he'd seen her, Kholster's grin had threatened to expand beyond the confines of his face. As much as he'd suspected Wylant might associate her flaming tresses with Dienox's “blessing,” Kholster hoped she liked them because she looked stunning with the waist length locks trailing behind her as she flew.