A Hollow Mountain (The Brightest Shadow Book 2), page 23
"Oh, absolutely. They gave me one of those beautiful slender men and it was incredible. I've been stronger than untrained men for years, but this... he had no sense of superiority whatsoever. If anything, he was afraid of me. I had absolute, unquestioned power, and oh, I used it to release years of frustration."
Celivia listened silently, keeping her face completely blank. She knew something of malice, and knew that she had little room to judge others after everything she'd done, but the raw pleasure in Jeraeli's voice troubled her. Enjoying having power over an innocent reminded her too much of days she'd rather forget.
"You have an impressively blank face, but I'm guessing you don't approve." Jeraeli examined her, a hint of caution in her eyes. Celivia realized that she risked driving a wedge in between them and didn't want to jeopardize their connection. Best to find another approach.
"I've never been able to release frustration that way," Celivia said, "but I have friends who do. I know one who has suffocated more than a few men with their own intestines."
"Oh my. That would have raised some eyebrows last night... but not so many as you might expect."
"Then it must have been quite a wild banquet."
"There are rumors that Zeitai Kreue indulges even stranger desires in closed celebrations." Jeraeli sat back with a bit of a frown. "But would you like a strange bit of gossip? Even though he keeps a harem of men, I never saw Kreue touch even one. His lusts seemed rather straightforward to me, just sex and control. Does he keep them just for the sake of his female subordinates, I wonder?"
"And you couldn't learn the answer from your new circle of friends?"
"Don't be that way, Celivia. I suspect you think me self-absorbed, and I would never pretend to be a spirit of pure benevolence. But neither am I as purely self-indulgent as the Zeitai. When I acquire power, I intend to use it to make the changes that this nation needs. We won't survive the coming conflict with the humans if we can't unite."
"Then we aren't so different," Celivia said, willing the words to be true. "But I fear my path is going to involve fewer orgies and more trekking through the mountains."
Jeraeli laughed. "Let me handle the orgies, then. The social circles surrounding the Zeitai seem complex, but they don't encompass quite everything. According to the stories, the Zeitai has a powerful subordinate named Knakar who never appears at the banquets. All he does is travel from assignment to assignment, tirelessly doing the Zeitai's dirty work. Most I spoke to have never even seen him, but I wonder if you might not encounter him out in your mountains."
"If I hear of a man named Knakar, I will let you know."
"Thank you. I wasn't sharing that information with you to amuse myself. The paths to power here in Castle Wahles seem rather crowded, so another approach is necessary. If you could form an alliance with the Zeitai's most trusted enforcer, you might skip ahead of all of us."
"That would be a rather remarkable coincidence." Celivia smiled at Jeraeli, trying to keep the sudden weariness from her face. Once she had been better at the dance of politics, but for now she only wanted to go back and face an enemy she could easily understand.
They spoke on lighter matters until Celivia finished her food. Jeraeli left her with a warm farewell, an unspoken acknowledgment that if they ever saw one another again, it might not be for some time. Though it was possible that Celivia would remain in Castle Wahles for an extended period, she suspected that she would soon be given her assignment and her reprieve would be over.
As it happened, when she returned to her room she found a messenger waiting. She was to return to Sotfaal and eliminate the Lowstep clan, using only her own band of eight men.
Celivia sat in silence until it was time to go, wondering if things might have been different if she had fully accepted the Zeitai's invitation.
Chapter 18
-
"Among countless lesser clans, several deserve mention, beginning with the only two who have ventured significantly outside the Sotunn Mountains. The Sandriders of the west target river merchants, desert nomads, and occasionally the hills west of the Sotunns. The Waveburners in the east have nearly left the mountains, becoming pirates who threaten the great bay and even the coast of Wahleen."
- Scholars of the Blue Mask
-
Strangely, the ongoing frustration fueled Slaten's training. Usually he tried to let his emotions fall away to focus on the purity of his movements, letting current emotions recede until he could dwell in the pure sensations of his sein. Yet as they traveled over the mountains toward their destination, Slaten found the opposite occurring.
It was most obvious with the Bloodskin arts. Though he was frustrated by memories of Natala's deception, the flashes of anger seemed to surge directly through his body. With each exercise, he could feel himself growing stronger... and angrier. The emotions and the arts fed on each other, creating a cycle that threatened to control him. He tried to keep the influence at bay by reflecting that perhaps the general attitude of the Bloodskin warriors was not determined solely by culture.
There were few jests and no fights among them now, of course. Their path had taken them deep into enemy territory, and despite the occasional boast, they knew that drawing attention from the Stormpeaks too early would be fatal.
They made camp in a safe location every night, without fires but stocked with plenty of rations taken from the Bloodskin village. There the warriors who didn't form the watch let themselves relax, but Slaten never joined them. He had too much on his mind, and speaking with the Bloodskin warriors would only stir up the wrong thoughts. Instead he sat alone, where he was generally ignored. Melal was the one they had truly embraced, after all.
That day they had taken a midday break to eat and scout. As usual, Slaten took his share of food and walked some distance away. When he finished and found that the others seem disinclined to move on, he considered starting a round of training exercises. He worried that the Bloodskin warriors might recognize their own arts, but so far there had been no trouble.
Just as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he heard sounds of alarm. He saw warriors beginning to stand, but none reached for their weapons. All eyes turned toward the camp's entrance, where two figures now stood.
"It is time!" Melal nearly shouted the grand announcement. Beside him, Gatoda explained his proclamation.
"We were looking for a way around that peak when we spotted them. Big group of Deathspawn, with a lot of soldiers, but they're guarding something important. It's closer than we thought, but we're not going to get a better chance."
"Which is why we must strike!"
Many nodded in agreement with Melal, but a majority still turned to Bufogu. The Chief of the Bloodskin clan slowly rose to his feet, letting his imposing frame capture their attention. When he spoke, he did so quietly, forcing everyone to lean closer.
"We go, but we do not attack until I give the word. Denugo, lead a group of men to scout ahead of this target, to be sure it is not a trap. Patule, take the fastest of our men and judge their strength precisely. I will lead the rest of us into position for the attack, if this is the time to fight."
The band of warriors split up to obey, many tossing aside food. Melal seemed fixated on the upcoming fight, his eyes bright, so he didn't bother to object or insist that he would lead. If he cooperated, the attack would likely go smoothly. Slaten hoped that was what he wanted.
Surprisingly, Patule chose Slaten as one of the warriors to evaluate the caravan. He reflected that he was one of the quietest of the group, though his use of sein wasn't so imperceptible as the Bloodskins'. As they crept closer to their target, he realized that it must be because they used sein in such an earthy, embodied fashion. There was more to uncover there, but it was not the time for reflection.
When they reached their vantage point, they peered over the side of a wooded cliff down to the path below. This was a proper road, paved in stone and tearing through smaller hills. Perhaps some past warrior had cut them with raw strength.
The company moving along it was larger as well, a substantial group of mansthein guarding two lines of wagons. Though there was nothing that struck Slaten as particularly valuable, it was certainly a large shipment heading north. While he did his best to count their numbers - at least two hundred - he was surprised when Patule suddenly crouched down beside him.
"I want to know what you see, lowlander." Patule had an ugly scar across his face from a wound that should have destroyed his features, yet a green eye peered from out of the gnarled flesh. "You've fought the Deathspawn in many lands. I've noticed that they seem to have strange differences, more than men."
"That's true." Slaten turned his attention down to the group again, though he continued speaking. "But there are many more that I haven't seen, so I don't know if I can recognize them."
"Just tell me what you see."
As the company advanced, Slaten watched them more carefully, assuming that others would count their numbers. He was somewhat surprised that Patule had approached him, but the Bloodskin always lurked at the edges of feasts like a watchful predator. Since this was a measure of trust, Slaten considered his report carefully before speaking again.
"I assume you know Catai and you've seen the one in the back," Slaten said, "but do you see the Deathspawn sitting atop that wagon? I suspect that he is more than he seems."
"Aye, I had my eyes on him too. Anything else?"
"On the left flank, there is a group of shorter Deathspawn that look different. Purple skin, dark hair."
"They're not Deathspawn children?" Patule's mild surprise suggested that he had no problem with cutting them down, so Slaten pressed on. He almost said Veron's name, but thinking of Natala's manipulations, changed his approach at the last moment.
"A warrior I trust fought similar Deathspawn. He said that they attack in a mad rage, heedless of their own survival but very dangerous. If that group screams, they could be the largest immediate threat."
Patule grunted in acknowledgment but didn't move away. When he spoke again, he surprised Slaten. "I know you're fond of that woman, but you shouldn't trust her. She may seem normal now, but she was a strange girl. The blood in her heart is... wrong somehow."
Patule pushed off the ground and went to join the others, leaving Slaten speechless. Though the information was nothing new to him, thanks to that terrible final night in the village, he noted that Patule appeared to have given him that information as a sort of thanks for his observations.
It was mildly curious, but Slaten returned his focus to his contribution to the imminent battle. As the scouting groups gathered and prepared to strike at the ambush point, he drew his sword and held it in his hands, still wondering.
In the end, he decided that he would not hesitate. Part of him feared that some might be innocent scholars like Ulviab, but the mansthein he saw below were soldiers. They had their own thoughts and dreams, but they had chosen to join the army and invade a foreign land. Ultimately they were violent raiders, just like the Bloodskins.
There were no innocents here, only violent soldiers. Including him.
As always, the attack began with a volley of spears from above. Many struck home, but the mansthein responded with shouted orders in Futhik. When the second wave of spears arced down, few reached their targets. Soldiers raised shields, warriors grabbed the spears out of the air, and the Catai shielded his comrades by letting the weapons break against his skin. The warrior sitting atop the wagon simply rose to his feet at the perfect moment to evade.
The Bloodskin warriors around Slaten let out a roar and rushed down to attack, though they were not the first group to do so. As Slaten went with them, keeping his sword low at his side, he could only watch as the battle unfolded at the speed of sein-trained warriors.
As always, the Bloodskin warriors struck the wall of soldiers like a deadly whirlwind, ignoring the weapons that failed to deal serious wounds. Yet among those soldiers there were a few warriors who struck back, and Slaten saw several Bloodskin warriors fall before being mobbed by the soldiers.
On the other side of the caravan, he saw Gatoda and Denugo fight their way to the Catai. The enormous mansthein struck out carelessly, then hesitated when his strike was blocked. As the two of them attacked in concert, he began to give ground.
At that moment, a terrible scream echoed from the group of short mansthein. Slaten felt the sein cut through his skin, but the power of it was almost a physical force, slowing his advance.
The cluster burst outward, striking with brutal disregard for their own safety. When they struck at torsos, the superior Bloodskin bodies let them strike back, but some of their blades cleaved through necks or went deep into skulls. In a single heartbeat, the death toll on both sides increased, yet the survivors intended to rush onward.
Except then another volley of spears struck the group of stunted mansthein. Those who saw it dodged, but many sprouted spears in the side or back. Slaten saw that Patule stood on the opposite side of the road, leading another group of Bloodskins that had held back for this exact purpose.
Then Slaten and the other warriors collided with the battle and there was no more time for thought.
His world became flashing weapons, flailing limbs, screaming faces. Discipline and strategy were meaningless, as it took everything he had to stay aware of his environment.
The soldiers rushing at him moved sluggishly, and they fell easily. As Slaten pulled his sword from the side of one, a fragment of his mind realized that these fights were meaningless. Though the Bloodskin warriors seemed happy to cut down inferior opponents, that meant nothing to him. He didn't care about their goal and his own survival was a small trifle, so the battle gave him nothing. What he needed was to test himself.
Slaten advanced on a pair of warriors who fought with sword and shield, apparently capable of holding off the Bloodskins. He struck out at one and was surprised at how easily his thrust was turned aside. A moment later, the shield thrust out to pummel him.
He caught the blow on his shoulder and to his surprise, it was the mansthein who dropped back.
This was no time for hesitation, so Slaten continued to attack on instinct. After an intense exchange of blows, his blade slid underneath the mansthein's shield, driving into his stomach. Though Slaten tried to pull it back, conscious of the second warrior nearby, the fight ended abruptly when a Bloodskin struck from behind, decapitating the other warrior.
Several more soldiers stood in the way, so Slaten moved toward them. He was surprised at just how strong he felt and wondered if he could shrug aside a serious injury, as the Bloodskins did. And yet... he found himself surprisingly tired. His new body had easily maintained the marching pace of the others, so he had expected his stamina to be improved. Yet his breath came heavily and his sein became burning blades lancing through his body.
At that moment, Slaten realized that he had fought his way close to the center of the caravan. And the warrior who waited atop the wagon.
Two Bloodskins fought him, yet the mansthein refused to give ground, his feet moving agilely over the wagon's cargo. As Slaten watched, he saw one of the Bloodskins launch a sweeping strike, blocked by the back of the mansthein's hand. Not deflected, simply blocked. Slaten realized that there was something wrong with the man's hands: they looked far too large, glinting like metal and ending in sharp points. His immediate sense was not hands, but jaws.
The second Bloodskin warrior attacked with an axe swung overhead and the mansthein caught the attack in one hand. Then his other hand launched out, clapping over his opponent's face... and his fingers closed like jaws with a sickening crunch. Gripping the mangled head, he used the corpse as a projectile against the remaining Bloodskin warrior, sending him tumbling.
Then the mansthein turned to Slaten and leapt down from the wagon.
Though he knew that running would be the most intelligent option, the heaviness in his limbs made him fear that he would simply be cut down. In that case, his only choice was to stand his ground and hope that he could end the fight in a single brief exchange.
When the mansthein approached, Slaten began with a clumsy decoy thrust. As he expected, the mansthein reached out to grasp his weapon. His opponent was fast, but unprepared for Slaten to suddenly use his full speed and lunge forward. The slash sliced through the mansthein's shirt... and glanced off his skin, leaving only a shallow cut.
Instantly the mansthein closed the distance, his hand striking a vicious impression of a steel beast's jaws lunging toward Slaten. Though he jerked his head out of the way, an instant later pain shot through his body as the hand agilely shifted to clamp down on his shoulder.
Slaten's mind froze as he felt the strike grind against his bones. He had cast sein into his shoulder in his defensive art, and his new body was tougher, but it wasn't enough. In a moment, his sein would fail and the mansthein's grip would crunch through bone. And yet part of him just stared at the hand on his shoulder, distantly noting how it felt like there were more than five fingers, as if the hand itself had changed...
His body's instincts didn't freeze. Almost without thought, he drove his sword through the mansthein's stomach.
With a cry of pain, the mansthein reeled back, letting go of Slaten's shoulder... but he didn't fall. Slaten knew that he should take advantage of that moment, but his sein was exhausted and his shoulder throbbed in solid agony. To use any further arts would deeply overdraw his reserves.
So he didn't move as his opponent reached down and clamped a hand down on the sword in his stomach.
To Slaten's shock, he felt the sein in his blade shatter as the metal itself tore apart. With overwhelming strength, the mansthein's hand had clasped around the blade and simply broken it in half. And his other hand moved toward Slaten's face again.
Pushing past his limits, Slaten abandoned his ruined blade and dodged back. He automatically drew his second sword in a flash, connecting with his off-guard opponent.
