Instruments of War (Iron Kingdoms Chronicles)

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I want to thank Dan Wells, Howard Tayler, and Alan Bahr for introducing me to Warmachine, teaching me how to play, and then beating me and taking my lunch money. Thanks to the crew of Privateer Press for letting me play in their world.

Akkad was waiting for her to stand, obviously excited to prove his worth to their grandfather. There were only three people present within the gigantic training arena of House Balaash, but one of them was Archdominar Vaactash himself, master of their house and a warrior so great he had already secured exaltation for his deeds. It did not matter that the stands were empty, since the opinion of Vaactash alone mattered more than the cheers of several cohorts of troops.

“What lesson would you have me teach her next, Archdominar?” Akkad asked. As the elder of the two children of Telkesh, first son and heir of mighty Vaactash, Akkad would someday lead House Balaash. Hoksune dictated that the eldest, unless unfit for war, must lead. It was vital that Akkad display his martial superiority before his grandfather, and so far he had. “She is still but a tiny thing.”

Vaactash’s expression was unreadable. “Then why have you had to work so hard to defeat her?”

Makeda took some pleasure in seeing the anger flash across Akkad’s face as he sputtered out a response. “I merely wished to provide you with an amusing show.”

“Watching a paingiver flay a captured enemy is amusing,” Vaactash snapped. “I am here to make sure my grandchildren are being properly prepared to bring glory to my house. Demonstrate to me that you are ready to fight in the name of Balaash.”

Akkad dipped his head submissively. “Of course.” Ten years older, her brother was far larger and had already received advanced training under the tutelage of their father’s veteran Cataphract. Akkad walked to the nearest rack of weapons and removed a war spear, the heavy polearm of the Cetrati. It was longer than Makeda was tall, and even though the blade had been replaced with a block of shaped wood, she knew that it would still hit like a titan’s tusk. Akkad tested the balance of the heavy weapon before grunting in approval. He spun it effortlessly before pointing it at Makeda’s chest. “I will finish her swiftly this time.”

“See that you do. Hold nothing back. Demonstrate your conviction.”

For the skorne, life consisted of either making war or preparing for it. It was a harsh, brutal, and unyielding existence. That was especially true for those blessed enough to be born into House Balaash, the greatest of all houses. There was no doubt they would fight their hardest until physically unable to continue or were commanded to stop by their superior. Other, lesser houses may have done it differently, perhaps not risked the lives of their heirs so flagrantly, but that was why they were weak and House Balaash was strong.

Makeda welcomed the challenge. She crossed her swords and saluted her brother.

Their grandfather studied the combatants intently, his white eyes unblinking. Though his form was bent with age, his mere presence seemed to fill the arena. This was a warrior who had led tens of thousands into battle and conquered more houses than any other dominar in several generations, earning himself the extremely rare title of archdominar. He was a master mortitheurge capable of commanding the mightiest beasts and rending unbelievable magic from the flesh. Makeda wished that she could have a fraction of his understanding, but promised herself that one day she would. Vaactash was the epitome of what it meant to be skorne.

After a long moment of consideration, Vaactash stepped aside, gathered up his red robes, and took a seat on the first tier of the training arena. He gestured dismissively. “Continue.”

“Come, sister. Let us end this.”

Akkad swung the spear in a wide arc. Makeda raised both blades to intercept, but the impact was so great that it nearly tore them from her grasp. Her arms were already exhausted and quivering. She grimaced and pushed back, but her boots slid through the sand of the arena as Akkad overpowered her. The pressure released, the heavy pole moved back, and Makeda lurched aside as Akkad stabbed at her. He followed, relentless, eyes narrowed, looking for an opportunity to finish her.

He was stronger, but she was faster. Stepping in to the threat, Makeda slashed at Akkad’s face with her right, narrowly missing.
Show your foe one blade. Kill him with the other.
She stabbed with her left sword and clipped the edge of his breastplate. Akkad didn’t seem to notice. The spear hummed through the air again, and this time Makeda was unable to stop it.

She crashed hard against the arena wall.

The code of hoksune declared that the eldest was the default heir, but every child of the highest caste was a valuable war asset, and thus not to be wasted frivolously. Yet, when Makeda looked into Akkad’s maddened eyes, she wondered if her brother really did intend to kill her. She narrowly rolled aside as the wall was pulverized into splinters. Vaactash said nothing.

Her brother was kept coming. The war spear covered vast swaths of the arena with each attack. The muscles of Makeda’s arms clenched in agony as her practice swords bounced harmlessly away. Sweat poured down the inside of her cursed, cumbersome armor. She was struck in the ribs, and then in the leg. Flesh bruised and swelling, Makeda continued fighting. She would fight until her archdominar said it was time to stop or she was dead, for that was the code. Another massive strike knocked one of her blades away. It spun through the air and landed in the stands with a clatter.