Aren, facing them alone, drew his sword.
Khianati! Aren yelled as loudly as he could, directly toward the large elf charging toward him before the others. He knew this would be the chief of the elves, who always preferred to lead them into battle. Pengkhianatan dari belakang!
The chief of the elves stopped, looking around in confusion, anger, and outrage.
Peri dikhianati! Aren shouted. His voice was hoa.r.s.e and dry. Peri terjaga! Hewa meningalkan Peri matikan!
The elven chief raised his arms and screamed. His piercing voice made Aren cringe, but he knew it had been shaped that way to carry over the noise of battle.
The elves stopped their charge, their weapons raised in antic.i.p.ation of death and conquest.
Aren kept his eyes on the chief. He was enormously powerful and terrible to look at. Aren could not remember this particular chief, but he fervently hoped this one would react in the same way as every other chief he had commanded.
In that moment, Aren knew the chief.
He knew there was nothing there.
Nothing, at least, in the sense of what had once been there. This had once been a man, he knew, and that man had been reshaped by the Obsidians into this monster of war and conquest. There was nothing here of his life, his former self, his memories, or his soul. Whatever this man had once been had been stripped from him and replaced with hatred, fear, and power.
Kebelakan! The chiefs voice was a screeching sound like that of a hawk. Seranglah kebelakan!
The elves turned at once, rushing back between the legs of the gigantic monster still holding the stone aloft to keep the way open.
Aren smiled and followed them toward the opening.
He could see out of the corner of his eye the warriors of the Opalis Legion rushing down Muse Way from both the north and the southwest. Syenna was with them, running before them and toward him.
Beyond the legs of the straining monster lay the Westreach Army of the Obsidian Empire.
His army.
Aren! Syenna shouted after him. Stop! I order you to stop!
Arens grin widened. Syenna was the closest to him but not close enough to stop him.
Archers! Syenna shouted to the walls. Stop him! Stop him before he escapes!
Aren shook his head as he ran. The mantle on his shoulders would confuse them, make them hesitate just long enough.
The sword in his hand flashed in the light of the mystic shield above him.
Aren altered his course and charged directly at the gargantuan leg of the monster straining to hold open the breach in the mystical barrier of Opalis. The creature, he realized with surprise, was not one human enlarged in form, but multiple humans merged into a single form. In the end, the difference did not matter, for he knew that none of those who originally had been reshaped by the Obsidians were there any longer. He swung the sword with both his hands on the grip, cutting with all his might at the back of the enormous creatures ankle just above the heel. The blade sliced with unexpected ease through the tendon before connecting with bone.
Aren pulled the blade free, stepping back from the creature as quickly as he could.
The monster howled in pain, suddenly toppling sideways. The force of the mystical barrier drove down the stone, crushing it on the creatures head and driving it into the rubble of the fallen gate.
Aren drew in a ragged breath, taking a few steps away from the restored city shield and the howling, outraged warriors of the Westreach Army beyond it. The Avatars sword remained poised in his hand. He watched the gigantic creature warily, but the monster did not move and, in any event, appeared to have fallen outside the t.i.tans Shield. Aren stood upright and glanced down at the sword with new appreciation.
Something caught his eye.
The symbol on the swords pommel had changed. Now two of the three curving blades on the symbol were shining brightly rather than the singular one he had noticed before.
Now thats odd, Aren chortled. I wonder what that is supposed to mean?
Aren sheathed his sword and turned back to face the square. The warriors of the Legion stood watching him as he walked toward them wearing the mantle of their commander. Aren saw a familiar face standing near Syenna and walked in their direction.
Sir Llewellyn, Aren said. You have arrived just in time. Form ranks from a third of your knights to guard this gate, then form watches out of the remaining knights. Have them guard this breach in shifts. Then find Captain Artemis and have her organize the remaining archers and warriors into watches along the remaining walls. Once thats done, find someone who could organize any stoneworkers in town to see if anything can be done about repairing this wall. Do you understand all that?
Yes, sire, Llewellyn replied.
One last thing, Aren said as he removed the filthy and blood-stained mantle from over his head.
Yes, sire? Llewellyn said.
Give this to Give this to Commander Artemis when you see her, Aren said. I think sh.e.l.l know what to do with it.
Yes, sire. Llewellyn nodded, considerable relief in his voice.
Aren turned toward Syenna. I was being taken back to the barracks, but this ridiculous siege interrupted my escort. I dont suppose you would mind taking me there?
Youre still here, Syenna said in disbelief. You could have fled and rejoined your army. Why are you still here?
What? And let General Karpasic win? Aren snorted, and started walking down Muse Way toward the barracks.
Syenna followed him in silence.
CHAPTER.
24.
Collateral Damage Aren threw himself down into a chair against the wall in the commanders chamber of the barracks. He cast a baleful eye at the commanders own empty chair, situated behind the ma.s.sive table still covered with maps of the city and the surrounding region. With a heavy sigh, Aren leaned onto the back of the chair.
Syenna had followed him down the curving length of Muse Way, the entire distance from the shattered Fields Gate past the Storm Gate, and finally to the barracks at the base of the Long Wall. Neither of them had said a word the entire distance. Now she stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she looked down at Aren.
Aren pulled out the sword, gazing at it.
Its an interesting thing to me, Aren muttered at last as he turned the blade in his hand. Just how deeply swords can cut. I dont think I really knew it before now, but these sharp edges sever more than skin, muscle, and tendon. Ive seen swords separate a body from its life. Surely that is deep enough for any keen edge. But even that is not deep enough"not for true warriors or the empires they serve.
The sword flashed in the warm light of the burning oil lamp as he twisted it. The blood streaking its blade looked nearly black in the dim light.
No, Syenna, Aren continued, his eyes unexpectedly welling up, his voice shaking. The swords and knives and every other artifice of death slice down through a persons soul. It separates the living from their past"the leaves, twigs, and branches from their roots. It neatly draws and quarters the conquered from who they were. Their history and their stories, their writings, and what they hoped to be. Then after it has carved out the guts of their civilization, the conqueror promises to make up for this vivisection by transplanting his own pride, legends, and beating drums in their places. Then they hope"hope, mind you"that their prey will be grateful for this new life they never wanted or needed.
Aren looked up at the shieldmaiden. Syennas breath was coming in shallow gasps.
You know what Im talking about, dont you? Aren said as he gazed at her, the sword gripped tightly in his hand. Your father was a trade merchant out of Etceter. He worked the long overland routes through Midras to Port Crucible, as well as the eastern routes across the Grunvald up into Rhun.
What? Syenna gaped. No, I"
You would often go with him, along with your mother and your sister, on the longer expeditions so that he wouldnt be lonely for you, Aren continued, his eyes fixed on her. You spent the long hours on the road next to your father at the front of the trade wagon.
You cannot possibly"
What did you talk about?
Everything. He taught me, m-mostly, Syenna stammered. He talked about the signs of the land and the turns in the road. He knew every boulder, every tree, every peak and mound of the route.
He knew the signs of the weather, too, Aren continued for her. He knew when to make camp and when to press on to the next well. But he didnt know anything about the Obsidian Empire growing deep in the Grunvald Plain. He didnt know until that night, when a small cadre of Obsidian knights happened on the caravans encampment.
No, Syenna said breathlessly. Dont do this.
Aren looked away from her, gazing into the surface of the sword, the runes shifting before him. He could not read them, but somehow the images came to his mind.
Your mother was emphatic when she took you girls aside, Aren said quietly. She told you to run into the tall gra.s.s of the prairie and to hide there until she came for you. That young girl who had sat beside her father for all those leagues on the wagon was obedient at once and ran for the gra.s.s. She realized only too late that her younger sister was no longer behind her. So she did the only thing she could think of doing: she obeyed her mother and hid.
Syenna was shaking visibly.
Aren lowered the sword slowly until the tip touched the ground. Then he looked up at Syenna again.
Your mother never came for you, he said, sighing.
Syenna shook her head once, her jaw clenched, as a single tear ran down her cheek.
Aren stood up slowly. He slid the sword into his scabbard and turned to face Syenna.
It would have been tragedy enough for a lifetime that those knights killed your parents along with everyone else in the caravan that night, Aren continued. But taking the stores and trade goods was only part of their instruction. The Obsidian sorcerers had a special request for young humans, those who had not yet grown to maturity, whose flesh and bones were still forming and growing. It was early in the development of their craft in altering the form of living things. They needed young children on whom they could experiment"make mistakes and learn from them.
They took her, Syenna growled through her clenched teeth. They took her to that that place"
But you couldnt help her, Aren urged in a soft voice.
I had to survive first. Syenna nodded, the words spilling out of her. I remembered what my father had taught me. I found the grottoes, and I found food. I found the routes, trails, and towns. Every step along the way, I drew from my fathers words and added to them. I entered the camps of the warlords. I learned the ways of the fist, the sword, and the shield.
But you did find her. Aren nodded, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the heavy table. You did rescue her.
I overheard a camp of mercenaries talking about a caravan that had been taken the year before. Syenna nodded again. They said that the children were never killed but taken as slaves to a place called Shard. There, they said, the sorcerers were reshaping them into monsters that might put the mercenaries out of work.
So you went to Shard, Aren said, clearing his throat. How did you?
Syenna shuddered violently, her face a mask of pain.
Aren looked down at the ground. Never mind. It doesnt matter. The point is that you did rescue your sister from Shard. You did bring her home.
What was left of her. Syenna nodded yet again. She was one of their failures at shaping elves.
And now you want to find a way to fix her, Aren said. Thats why you came into the Westreach Army, using the skills your father taught you and those you learned in order to survive. So you could have your revenge on the sorcerers who crippled your sister.
Yes.
And force them to tell you how to undo what they had done.
Yes!
All so that little girl hiding in the tall gra.s.s of the plains could stop those knights that took everything from her.
Yes!
Aren drew in a long breath.
Those Obsidian knights made you, Syenna, Aren said softly.
Syennas eye went wide, her face contorted in fury. She lunged toward him from the doorway in blind rage, her hands outstretched like claws wanting to gouge at his flesh. There was no thought of drawing a weapon in her angry charge. Aren caught her as she rushed forward, gripping her outstretched arms and twisting as she plunged toward him. He spun around her, carrying her momentum into the edge of the table, which groaned as it slid suddenly back against the wall. Aren pressed Syenna back over the edge of the table, making it impossible for her to gain her footing. His face was inches away from her snarling countenance.
They made you, Syenna, Aren repeated as he struggled to hold her still. They robbed you of your family, of your past, of your hopes, and your future just as surely as they are going to do the same to this city and its people. They failed to remake your sister into one of their monsters, but they reshaped that little girl hiding in the tall gra.s.s of the plains into"
Into a monster? Syenna shouted as she continued to struggle.
No, Aren answered. Into a shieldmaiden of Etceter.
Syenna stopped struggling. Her breath was ragged, but her eyes were suddenly focused on Aren.
Do you want these people of Opalis to have their life torn from them as it was torn from you? Aren asked. Do you want them to lose the better part of who they may become?
Syenna relaxed beneath Arens grip. He released her slowly as he straightened back up and took a step away from her.
Syennas lip was bleeding slightly from where she had bitten it. She licked the wound and then spoke. My sister Yes. Aren nodded.
You know she means everything to me, Syenna said, regaining her footing in front of the table.
Yes, I know, Aren agreed.
Then I have something for you, Syenna muttered as she reached into the pouch that hung from her scabbard belt. She pulled out a pair of items and tossed one toward the captain.
Aren caught it and turned it over in his hand.
It was a black obsidian stone.