Book 5: Chapter 32: A Lull
Pazra-dak looked at Rosh, writhing on his bed, sheets tangled around him, soaked in sweat. His eyes rolled in his sockets, bloodshot and wide. Some living terror wracked his mind, driving him to gibber and froth, his once handsome face nothing but a sick caricature of itself. What had that devil done to him? “Brother. Speak to me. What do you see? What torments you so? Your wounds are healed. The scars, while severe, will fade with time and bloodline advancements.”
“It comes! Devil! Wings! Hide! Must hide . . .” he turned and buried his face in the mattress, pulling his wet sheets toward his golden, hairless skull.
Pazra whirled and screamed at Bothelio-dak, the highest-ranking surgeon in their combined armies, “What are you doing to fix this?”
“It’s a sickness of the mind, Lord! Something has corrupted him, tainted his spirit. Perhaps your aide, the Wanact witch . . .” his words were lost as Pazra struck him with the back of his hand, knocking a tooth loose and sending the fool sprawling.
“Only I will refer to her as such. She is not available, but when she is, rest assured, she will mend this great man’s spirit.” Pazra looked around his tent at the crestfallen tribunes, the useless legate. He opened his mouth to speak but paused, listening to the distant screams and roars coming from the upstart’s encampment. “And why have you not attacked? Why have you not seized this opportunity to follow on the heels of the pact breakers?” His words were spoken to the room, but Legate Ghel-dak knew they were for him.
“Lord,” he started, his once haughty voice tremulous. “Our lines are in disarray. Many of the pact breakers were officers. I fear any assault now would be haphazard and lead to massive losses. The, um, upstart’s troops seem to be handily crushing the pact breakers. To attempt to capitalize now would lead to . . .”
“Silence!” Pazra waved his hand in disgust, pacing back and forth near the mewling, broken shadow of a man that used to be his glorious brother. His mind worked furiously, wondering where Senena was, why she hadn’t come to him, why she didn’t know he needed her help. “Damned witch!” he hissed.
“Lord!” a new voice said, interrupting his fuming reverie. He whirled, looking for the one who’d spoken, and saw it was one of the lieutenants, one of the Command Book scribes.
“What?”
“Captain Chelna reports that the Wind Casters have failed to maintain the clouds. They were exposed to the horror that roamed the ranks. Many were breaking, fleeing, and the pact invocation cost us nearly half their number.”
“Ancestors, damn it!” Pazra roared, smashing a huge, black-clawed fist onto the table where he kept his map. The blow broke the support arm that held up the leaf, and it flopped to the floor, spilling his map and scattering the carefully placed markers. As his aides scurried to clean the mess, he paced, trying to think of a plan. What would he do? His brother would know. Pazra looked at the broken man and almost screamed again, almost struck something. He had to do something before he lost control of the armies. When his brother’s Legion learned of his condition, would they hold firm? They had better! “Well?” he said, whirling on his command staff.
“Lord?” Ghel-dak asked.
“Lord?” Pazra mocked. “You worthless bastards! What would you do if I weren’t here? Our lines crumble, we’ve lost the darkness, and their hellspawn beast has brought low one of the Ridonne, one of our greatest! Do we have an accurate headcount? The creature seems to have retreated or left—do we have any men remaining? What will you do to manage that gigantic mongrel that I fought on the plains? My brother won’t be much help at this rate!” He gesticulated madly while he ranted, pointing left and right and finishing with a flourish at his pathetic brother.
“Lord, I believe it would be best to stall for time. We need to regroup, to gather our men, fill in the gaps in command, and, hopefully, find a way to help your brother.”
“And how shall I do that? How shall I stall?”
“You must bluff,” one of his tribunes said, jumping in to rescue the foolish Legate. Pazra motioned for him to continue, and the slight, neatly dressed man said, “Act as though the removal of the clouds was done as a gesture of goodwill, a chance for them to gather their corpses and consider your offer.”
“My offer?”
“Yes, Lord. We’re here because the noblewoman has raised a full legion without Imperial sanction. She’s been overheard speaking about Imperial corruption. Tell her she can turn herself over, disband this illegitimate army, and we’ll let those she deluded with false promises walk away, their lives intact.”
“What is your name, Tribune?” Pazra stalked menacingly toward the man, looming imposingly over him and the two aides by his side.
“I am Venis-dak, Lord.”
“Venis-dak, I hereby promote you to Legate. Ghel-dak will serve as your second.”
“Lord!” Venis said, clapping his fist to his chest in a sharp salute.
#
Victor watched the dark, ominous clouds drift through the sky, a stiff breeze helping to undo the work of the Ridonne army’s casters. He let his gaze fall to the wrecked airship outside the western fortifications—Rellia’s ship, Balestar. It had finally limped home, smoking and with a much-lightened crew, carving a trench in the ground as it slid to a crash landing. The surviving sailors had spun quite a tale about a flying squadron of Imperial troops that had attacked ThePetal, overpowering its crew and then turning their Energy-driven ballistae on the Balestar.
Rellia’s ship didn’t go down easily, though, and ended up winning the engagement, though it had barely made it home. “Two weeks?” he grunted, looking down at Lieutenant Darro.
“That’s what the engineers say, sir. Two weeks to get that ship back in the air.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”
She smiled again, then looked at the map, frowning. “You wanted me for something?”
“Yeah, I have a job for you. Just a sec.” Victor ran a hand down his wyrm-scale hauberk, magically parting it, and then he began thumbing through the various pouches and little sacks hanging from his magical belt. “I collected a bunch of jewelry from those Imperials back there near Fainhallow, the ones who tried to kill me,” he said, untying the heavy, supple leather sack. “I know a bunch of it is magical, and I’m sure there are a few dimensional containers. You know, one of those guys was a princep, and one was a consort or some shit—a woman meant to be one of the emperor’s wives.”
“Yes—Chokodo-dak and Reesha-dak.” Edeya nodded, then asked, “You didn’t turn those things over when you handed off the prisoners?”
“Huh? Hell no. I killed those guys and captured the other two. These are my spoils. I mean, some belong to Valla, but she trusts me.”
“I see.” Edeya’s eyes said she thought he should have shared the loot with Lam if no one else. Victor turned the sack upside down, spilling out the exquisite jewels, from Reesha’s veil to the many rings and necklaces. Edeya gasped, “Roots!”
“Yeah. You can see from the quality of what they wear on the outside that the things inside the dimensional containers are probably pretty good. I want you to go through all this stuff and catalog it.”
“Now?”
“You can take it with you. I trust you. If you’re worried about being robbed or something, you can keep this stuff in my house and do your work here. Understood?”
“Yes, Victor. I can do that.” Edeya nodded, and, with wide eyes and careful fingers, she began to gather up the jewels, putting them back into the sack.
“Now, I want to talk to you about something else.”
“Yes?” Her voice was small as she continued to look down, slowly turning a beautiful diamond choker in the light.
“I don’t want you to worry about your injuries.”
That got her attention. Edeya dropped the choker and looked up at Victor, a startled expression on her face as though he’d said something alarming. She narrowed her eyes, her brows pulling together, and growled, “I . . . Victor, you have a way of saying the worst thing!”
“Ah! There’s the old Edeya! Don’t get mad, though! Hear me out, okay?” As if he were afraid she’d try to run away, he reached out and grasped her wrist, not hard, not forcefully. He just wrapped his big fingers around the slender, bone-thin appendage. When she didn’t pull away and didn’t say anything, he continued, “In my adventures, I’ve come across a lot of things that are probably considered very rare by people you’ve known—things even Lam would be amazed to see. I bet Lam tried to comfort you by saying she’d work to help you advance your race, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Edeya’s eyes started to well with moisture.
“Lisen to me. We’re going to get all sorts of spoils on this campaign. These,” Victor lifted the sack from her hand and let it thunk down onto the table, “are just the start. I won’t be surprised if one of those rich pendejos has just what you need in one of their rings—a racial advancement treasure. If you find one, I’ll give it to you.”
“Victor . . .” she started to protest, but he kept speaking.
“If you don’t, we might find one after we defeat this army out there.” He waved vaguely toward the wall. It didn’t matter which direction; the army was all around them. “If we don’t, then we might find one when we get to the Untamed Marches. If we still haven’t found what you need, I’ll go to a city, buy one or two or three, and get you fixed up better than ever. Do you understand me? You’re my friend, Edeya, not just a lieutenant in my army. I take care of my friends.” At his words, the tears brimming in her eyes began to stream down her cheeks, and Victor pulled her in, crushing her against his stomach.
“Oof!” She laughed, sniffing noisily. “I’m glad you opened your armor, but your body is hard as wood. At least you’re warm.” She wormed her arms around his waist and dug her face into his shirt, sniffing and sobbing, and Victor held her there for several minutes, happy he’d said the right thing for a change.
He was thinking about how to push her away without upsetting the perfect moment when he heard Valla call from his foyer, “Victor! Are you here?”
“Yeah,” he replied, gently extricating himself from Edeya’s grasp. Her face was a mess, red and puffy, and her eyes bloodshot, but she seemed happy.
She smiled at him. “Thank you, Victor. Thank you for looking out for me so many times.”
“Bah.” He chuckled and jostled her shoulder. “I only saved you once or twice, right? I’m sure you kept me out of trouble just as many times.”
“Victor!” Valla said from the doorway, her voice breathy like she’d been running.
“Yeah?” He looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
“The Ridonne is out in the grasslands. He’s flying a parley flag; he wants to talk.”
