The Path of Destruction (Rune Breaker) (8 page)

“Then buy out every inn and flophouse and put them there. Make them share bunks based on patrol and training schedules, I don't really care as long as they're in their places when I need them.”

Tolere pursed his lips and forced himself to nod. “There is another thing, my Lord. You see, I've been keeping an eye on things and...” He lowered his voice, “I think some of them might be Kaydans sir. Disciples of the Threefold Moon.”

“And that's a scandal?” Crossius sounded amused. “The church and we of the Isles have allied before; our sciences for their... resources, and vice versa.”

“I know, my Lord but—“

“Again, I don't particularly care. Tell me of my missive to Lord Caldebron. Has he replied?”

Tolere suppressed a sigh and nodded. “He sent word that the item you requested is well within his abilities and that for...” He couldn't help to stumbled over the amount. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “For forty gold-weights of gretharian wood or ten pristine test subjects of nominal age and standard health, he can produce what you need within the next week.”

“My love?” The meeting was over the instant Lady Milfine spoke. Tolere was used to that. The Lady spoke and the Lord heard nothing else. She glided into the room, ever graceful, ignoring Tolere as she always did. “That experiment you've been monitoring: there is about to be a change. I thought you would like to watch.”

Crossius rose, casually dusting off his robes. “Indeed. I've been waiting for this a very long time.” Without another thought to Tolere, he stepped down from the desk and went to his Lady, moving to leave the room. “Now to see first hand if my patience has been rewarded.”

Ru hovered just above the grass on the hilltop. His legs were crossed and Kaiel's lap desk rested atop them. The army was arrayed along the riverbank before the now useless bridge to his right, and straight ahead was the wall of living wood that guarded Idarian Homestead; or rather the corpse thereof.

While the sun sank, the wall began to take on an increasingly sinister look, as the thick
nekras
miasma twisted the dying light.

He only glanced up to track the progress of Kaiel, Raiteria and Brin's woodling cloak nearing the homestead periodically. The majority of the time, his attention was on his pen, which scratched tiny symbols across the page laid out on the lap desk. A neat, but complex spell array lay almost complete there, drawn in part from memory, and in part from his expertise in the craft.

“I still don't understand why you refuse to fight now.” Taylin's voice sounded far away because she was further down the hill, shrouded in a cylinder of swirling black fog: a veil of
akua.
She'd asked Ru to conjure it to preserve her decency while she donned her armor. He didn't reply, but she only took that as an invitation to continue.

“I can feel it you know: the rush it gives you, this blood-lust of yours. Even now.” She lapsed into a moment of pensive silence, “You promised not to force me into giving your orders anymore.”

Ru placed his gaze firmly on the array he was diagramming. “And I have already made it clear why I choose not to step into this battle, Ms. Taylin. To engage Bashurra is to step onto the gaming board of Immurai's choosing. He takes no action without there being multiple advantages that he can gain, win or lose. It is bad enough that we follow his trail to the child, but this... this is a situation where we can easily afford to simply deny him his chosen scenario.”

“I've already told you why I can't do that.” Her annoyance swirled in the link, but a sudden flash of worry and shame mixed in. “Is it because of your scars?”

“No.” He said brusquely and almost missed a set of calculations along the rim of a control circle.

Taylin stepped through the veil, shattering the hastily constructed illusion and transforming the black fog into a shower of ice crystals that glittered in the setting sun before falling down around her. The cold made her flinch and fold her wings up tight, the feathers ruffling in her discomfort

Her new armor was professionally made by metalworkers who knew what armor was for, and so didn't gleam. The chain hauberk that fell to her thighs was dully metallic, and the leather kilt, which stopped above the knees on the minotaurs it was made for but stopped just below hers, was cured in such a way to leave it rough, as were the padded leather breeches she wore under them. More hardened leather was fitted across her chest and laced to another piece that extended between her wings to cover the opening that had to be worked into the hauberk to allow her to put it on around them.

It was all unadorned and highly functional. The only seeming concessions for looks were the chain gauntlets with plate over the backs of her wrists and plain leather over her fingers, and the sandals on her feet which were all shiny and brand new.

Dóttir Logi was in its mechanized scabbard, the hilt peeking over her shoulder. Not content with just the one weapon, she had two wide-bladed hunting knives sheathed on her hip, and another strapped to her leg.

Now more than ever, Ru was reminded of the old legend of Lady Death he'd quoted back during the King of Flame and Steel's attack. He'd seen Taylin fight several times now, but he'd never seen her fully equipped and readied for battle.

She took no notice of the thoughts in his head and fixed him instead with a look of nagging concern he'd grown to dread. “Will you at least tell me what it was that I accidentally took away?”

“That has nothing to do with why I won't fight now.” Ru looked away from her and down at the army. Scouts on spider and ornis-back were returning from a fruitless search for a ford somewhere upstream. Oddly, they hadn't sent anyone toward the Homestead. In his trained senses, he could tell that someone was moving a great deal of
akua
, though. Perhaps they were considering forming an ice bridge?

“I believe you.” Taylin baldly lied. “But I would like to know anyway. It's important to me.”

And she used the link to impress upon him just how important. For a brief moment, he was subjected to the stomach knotting tension she'd been feeling since she learned of what she'd done in her attempt to save him from the agony of Matasume the Wind's attack. And with it came the skittering paranoia and guilt that she may have crippled him in some way.

“Oh you are a
bright
soul, aren't you?” He dredged up another archaic epithet just for the occasion. “Not above manipulation with the link, but actual compulsion is too far?”

She strode past him to stand on the slope leading down to the army. “It isn't manipulation if you know what I'm doing.”

“I wonder if you believe that.”

She was silent and let the link return to its baseline, broadcasting only her tension at having to go down and meet with Percival again, the omnipresent concern over his lost scarifications, and if he concentrated, the thrum of anticipation she was hiding even from herself at the prospect of a fight.

“Heh.” He said to the last one. “Very well, seeing as you may well be in the midst of a suicide in the next few hours, I will tell you the simple version: In the third year after he rescued me, Gand sent myself, Seth, and Gloryfall to visit neighboring lands where magic was accepted; even embraced.

“I traveled to the Chiimiko-Han Mountains, to a people called the Matul Garu. They were an entire people who were sparkers like I was, and they built their society around it. In those mountains, there was precious little ambient energy around; not enough for proper spellwork. Instead, the Matul Garu specialized in casting from their own reserves; quickly and efficiently. They were masters of the quick-cast, to the point that most of their conflicts were resolved in the
hiuldar
, a battle of non-lethal spells. The first to score a definitive hit on their opponent was the victor.”

Ru watched her partially turn toward him, studying him with one eye, and he wondered if she was seeing his memories again: the stark halls built of ancient and weathered wood, sunken into the stone so that from the outside it was impossible to tell how a person could live inside one without having a permanently hunched back. The chalked out
hiuldar
floors that took up a room in every generational home. His first few weeks living among the Matul Garu, in which he got intimately acquainted with those floors from meeting them at high speed...

He coughed and continued, “There was an occupation among them: a representative of sorts, who could be paid to stand in one's place at
hiuldar
. Among the masters of the quick-cast, these were the most mighty. They were called
traccas
, or Scarred Ones.

“That is what the scars were for, Miss Taylin. They are scored into the flesh through a coating of plaster and herbs and the pain is immense, but once it’s done, you can use that pain and the memory of the patterns the scars make to instantly recall and string together fragments of spell arrays with no incantation or pattern drawing required. Back in Daire, I snapped a Chaos Lance at Immurai with barely a second thought; a spell so complex that it is typically used only for demonstration purposes, because it takes upwards of a minute to chant in combat.”

Taylin turned back to face the army fully again. “So you can't change shape instantly anymore.”

“Heh.” the laugh came out dangerous and cold. “Miss Taylin, I would not have been cooperative or forgiving if that was taken from me. I am a shapeshifting master. I've earned that. And violent death awaits anyone that would seek to relieve me of it.”

As soon as he said it, his eyebrow shot up at what he felt in the link. Her guilt had been slowly evaporating and now it was fully replaced by pride. Pride in what she saw as standing up to her. It was all he could do not to curse. To him, it felt as if he were a small dog getting petted for not wetting the floor.

“I'll be going then.” She said and that same pride stained her words.

“And I will remain here.” He said through clenched teeth. But as she spread her wings in preparation to fly, he recalled something. “Wait a moment.” He cut her off. With a few sweeps of his fingers, he drew out a pattern of void in the air and reached into the folded space he used for storage in lieu of filling Gaddigan's saddlebags. It was crude compared to Kaiel's portable library, or the House, but it served his purposes: storing his books, scythe and his favored red silk shirt, as well as one other object.

Taylin stopped and watched him drag forth from the folded space a familiar weapon, still in the same poorly made leather scabbard as it had been in the night Layaka betrayed them and Motsey was taken.

“It is no longer merely a handy bit of sharpened steel.” He said, offering it to her hilt first. “It is now Novacula Kuponya. One translation would make it: Razorblade of Remedy. Take it. It may be of use.”

An avaricious light came into her eyes when she saw the weapon and was soundly quashed by her better decency and inquisitive nature. “This is the sword you gave me...” She couldn't bear to say what happened, “That night. You were surprised by something about it.”

Ru continued to hold out the sword to her. “Indeed. Part of its design is to use some of the wielder's personal energy to fuel a powerful spell of disruption. This is meant to happen over time, and yet it charged instantly in your hand.” That still concerned him. Taylin should have passed out from the amount of discarnate energy required to charge the weapon completely.

Ignorant of the real issue, Taylin took up the sheathed blade and started to buckle it to her belt. “I was lucky, apparently. But thank you, Ru. I appreciate it.” She hesitated, then drew it out. The gem in the hilt glowed a soft blue, still charged from that night, its light dyeing her eyes and skin blue and her feathers brown. “What does it do?”

Ru folded his arms and rocked back slightly to look up at her. His yellow eyes were green in the light. “You claim not to want to do harm, and yet always throw yourself into a fight. The sword is made to complement that twisted philosophy. It heals as it cuts, using the
vitae
already present in the target, draining them to exhaustion without slaying them."

Surprise and careful delight filled the link as Taylin turned the blade over in her hands and tested its edge on her thumb. It sliced a thin line that faded the moment she pulled away from it. The pain remained, but there was no evidence of the injury. “Ru...” She said in a low voice, “This is perfect! Thank you!”

Then came a wash of embarrassment. “I-I should give you something. Next time we reach a town, I promise!”

Ru scoffed. “It isn't a gift. It’s to stop you from holding back. I can tell every time you check your swings, or hesitate because you feel compelled to consider if an enemy deserves to die or not. It grates at me. With that sword in your hand, no more. That is all I require.”

Taylin frowned at him. The Rune Breaker was a confusing beast, and even with the link, it was hard to gauge his motivations. They weren't friends, but he was better off having her alive than being sent back into stasis to await a new master who would abuse his situation and power, wasn’t he? Why couldn't he just say that instead of formulating aggravating reasons? She masked the link to deny him the satisfaction of her annoyance.

“Still, I'd like to pay you back for it.” She said stiffly.

Ru didn't bother to argue and instead changed the subject, “There is one other thing you should know: the disruption spell,
Habaense
. When you feel the need to use it, ask and I shall walk you through it; there is little time and you've shown no knack for magic.”

There was no arguing with that. She'd tried to learn while they were in Daire, but she couldn't even find her own well of power like Ru, Kaiel or Brin could, no matter how hard she tried.

“Right.” She said and sheathed Novacula Kuponya. “Thank you again. I need to go and find Percival before the others reach the Homestead.”

With that, she spread her wings and leapt into the air. Ru quietly returned to his scribing.

***

Percival Cloudherd strode along the eastern edge of the camp, watching the fodder wagons being trundled into place under the prodigious muscle power of thoroughbred tri-horn ceratos; imports from Callen that King Solgrum brought in for the army at his urging. More powerful than the lighter mixed breeds preferred elsewhere in Novrom, the beasts also had another advantage desirable in military dray animals: they could go longer on less food, provided they were gorged before departure.