Oathkeeper (4 page)

The attending Zaur handed Tsan his Skria, its four-foot blade heavy in his hands, hurting his wrist.
Already?
Tsan cursed inwardly at the tenderness of his joints.
I should have more time than this. I need to get some blasted dragonvenom!
Not that the alchemical mixture would make his joints stop hurting. Only allowing the transformation would do that. Ironically, he would have been able to wield the Skria fine as a female, it was only in transition when—

<>

Too distracted to recognize the speaker, Tsan shook off his personal preoccupation and ordered the charge, galloping up out of the tunnel, into battle.

Aboveground, smoke, fire, and chaos reigned. Brazz and his fellow Flamefangs belched sprays of liquid fire upon the bark of the still-growing Root Tree. Scattered Vael coaxed spouts of water from the nature spirits dwelling in nearby reservoirs, directing them carefully toward the flames only to watch the water go from liquid to steam with no sign of quenching the blaze. Other Vael fired deadly arrows from their heartbows, kept aloft by what Tsan could only assume were more of the annoyingly cooperative spirits with which Uled's third race showed such an affinity. Tsan hated the way the Weeds could cheat the bonds of earth and soar the air like the Eldrennai . . . not, of course, that he hadn't come prepared.

*

Kholburran had imagined many things happening when he raised the alarm. Being cornered by his own bodyguards was not one of them. Malli stood between him and the door, a gentle frown on her lips. She'd abandoned her usual beaded midriff-baring top and doeskin leggings for a beautiful suit of leather armor worked in brown and green with golden leaflike highlights.

Functional and attractive. Leave it Malli to redesign the ceremonial armor of the Root Guard into something in which one could actually fight, even if it did look like it might be harder to breathe with so much surface area covered. Kholburran mourned the way it disguised Malli's curves, the way the helmet covered her orchid petal hair, but not as much as he hated not being allowed to have a similar suit of armor. He didn't care how hard it would be to breathe with that much material covering his bark. He wanted to fight. But . . . girl-type persons fought and boy-type persons grew into big strong Root Trees and pollinated. Such was the way of things.

“Tran is burning!” Kholburran shouted. “We can't just stand here!”

“And we're making plans to get you safely back to Hashan and Warrune as soon as we have a clear exit, Snapdragon,” Malli explained patiently.

That's not what I meant
, he thought. Kholburran knew Malli was trying not to sound condescending. Trying was not the same as succeeding, however. Hearing a noise behind her, Malli stepped clear of the door, silently drawing the longsword belted at her waist. She resheathed it when Arri, Lara, Mavyn, and Seizal filed into the bedroom, all clad in armor similar to hers.

“But I can fight, Molls.” Kholburran unslung his warpick. As deadly as it looked with its lacquered dark wood, Malli gave it the same sort of glance one might give a sproutling's dolly.

“I know you can,” Malli cooed. “Of course you can. I spar with you, and you're not bad, but if you die here we'll have lost two Root Trees.”

“It's not fair that I can't fight just because I'm a boy-type person.” Kholburran regretted the words as soon as he'd uttered them.

“That's not the only reason, my prince,” Arri interrupted. “It's that you are a royal boy-type person. If you were anyone else I'd happily petition Queen Kari for an exemption. But, and it pains me to say this—”

“I'm more useful as a Root Tree,” Kholburran snarled, dental thorns bared.

There it was, the irkanth in the shadows, now out in the open for all to see. Of course, they ignored it. They were girl-type persons. Girl-type persons always got their way.

“I'm just trying to say—” Kholburran began. He stopped. Only Malli was bothering to look him in the eye, the others seemed . . . embarrassed by his outburst, looking at the walls, the floor, the door, or his bare chest. He let it go.

“We've got to leave!” Faulina shouted as she burst into the room bringing with her the scent of burnt roses. Scorched green sap ran across her smoldering breastplate from a nasty wound to her left shoulder, the pauldron hanging loose where something had sliced through the strap that secured it to her armor.

“The rest of the Root Guard?” Malli asked.

“They can't make it, Captain.” Faulina shook her head. “There are hundreds of Zaur and some of them . . . I've never seen Zaur do what some of them are doing. I've never seen Zaur as big as some of these. They have troops that spit liquid fire that won't scrape off and others who—”

*

<> Tsan pounded, <>

A volley of crossbow bolts peppered the moonlit sky. Heartbow-wielding Weeds scattered, some avoiding the barrage, many crying out as the cruel shafts pierced armor and bark. Tsan didn't care whether the archers hit the flying Weeds or not. He was far more interested in the layout of the Vael city. So far, this one seemed astonishingly basic. He'd counted six outposts—glorified tree forts by his assessment—in the largest of the Redwoods and Grove Oaks surrounding the Root Tree at their center.

Four of the six were already burning, and the natural wooden walkways where branches from different trees merged together to form an easily navigable overhead route linking them to the Root Tree were engulfed in flame. He and his cavalry had already charged twice into the fray but were hanging back now until they were needed, resting the deep walkers. Tsan had been prepared to lead the charge up any one of the trees if needed, the six long-splayed toes of their mounts granting them access to routes not available to more traditional land creatures, but it had proved disappointingly unnecessary.

A great hissing cheer went up amongst his soldiers as the Root Tree shifted, dropping several feet to the base of the tunnel beneath it then falling northward with a loud creaking thump that shook the forest floor.

“Root Tree down,” one of his guards laughed.

Was that one second hatchling of the Twelfth Brood of Ixxant or first hatchling of the Second Brood of Naxxint? Tsan couldn't keep them straight with all the competing battlefield odors obscuring their pheromones.

Kuort, Tsan's most senior guard, drummed his claws along his Skria to get Tsan's attention. Once he had it, Kuort wordlessly pointed a sap-slick foreclaw at one of the still-standing outposts where a squad of Sri'Zaur with mottled scales and light armor clung to the bark of the tree. His Gliders weren't quite as stealthy as Asvrin's Shades, but against the Weeds . . .

<> Tsan thumped. <> He paused three beats for them to shift their aims. <>

Tsan's grip tightened painfully on his Skria as some of the airborne Weeds flew back toward the outpost to avoid the deadly crossbow bolts. One young Weed, flowing white head petals flouncing about her head in the night air, drew close enough, and one of the mottled-scaled Sri'Zaur pounced, leaping free of its lofty perch, webs of skin between its front and rear paws drawing tight and catching the air. At the last possible moment, the Weed seemed to sense the danger, spinning and gaining altitude . . . not in time to evade the Glider, but to let loose a curse as the airborne Sri'Zaur sunk its fangs into the Weed's throat and thrust the tips of its Skreel knives under her breastplate in a reverse-gripped double-thrust.

As the Weed fell from the sky, the Glider leapt free aiming for another flying target. Seconds later, the rest of its squad was in the sky as well.

Oh, Maker
, Tsan thought warmly,
you designed us to be so mighty and we . . . we have made such improvements
.

*

“—who look like twisted Jun Beasts,” Faulina continued. “Who knows what else. Tranduvallu is lost, we—”

A sudden shifting of the room cut her off as the floor dropped several feet out from under them. All the Vael except Malli lost their footing and dropped flat, the impact inflicting bruises and, in Arri's case, a broken arm.

“What the hells—” Kholburran began only to curse as the room shifted again sending all of them sliding along the floor to smack into the far wall.

Malli leapt between Kholburran and the wall, shielding him, protecting his head as best she could with her chest, cradling him. Kholburran's sap froze at the loud snap when Malli struck one of Tranduvallu's knob-like shelves. Hoping it was only her heartbow, knowing it wasn't, Kholburran pulled free once the room came to a halt. Knickknacks and tokens from their travels to other Root Cities dotted the wall-now-floor in broken pieces.

“You okay, Snapdragon?” Malli wheezed.

Her heartwood is cracked
. The words skittered through his mind, an unwanted assessment, automatic just like Malli had trained him.
Arri is going to insist we leave Malli behind. I only have moments to—

“Her core is compromised. We have to—” Arri started.

“We don't leave Malli. Help me get her back to Hashan and Warrune,” Kholburran cut her off, “or you will have to fight me all the way there. At every turn I will bite, scratch, kick, or try to escape. Help me get her back there and I'll do everything I can to make the journey quick and easy.”

“But her heartwood—” Seizal started.

“Is something I can fix when we get her back to the Twins.” Kholburran's voice was even, deadly.

“Only if we . . .” Malli's voice trailed off, eyes closing in pain.

“Well,” Kholburran smiled at her, “who else was I going to marry. If you're willing?”

“Wait. I think I can—” Malli moved to try to stand, an increased flow of sap and moisture from her exposed cambium seeping from the edge of her breastplate where the dark core of heartwood was exposed with a further crack.

Kholburran had never seen a Vael faint before, but Malli went down with a sharp intake of breath and low grunt.

Grabbing his crumpled shirt from a corner of the room, Kholburran tied it around Malli's waist using the remains of a broken chair to stabilize her and (hopefully) prevent any further breakage.

“We ought to leave her,” Arri said standing over him, hand resting close to the wedge-shaped scars that marked the bark over his shoulder blades. “I know you've been spending a lot of time with her . . . em . . . gardening . . . but—”

“She comes with me or I don't go.” The color in Kholburran's jade eyes developed a whorl of amber at their center. “I swear it.”

“You boy-type persons,” Arri said, shaking her head. “I don't know what goes on in your handsome little heads. All right. Calm down, Snapdragon. Don't go all mock-Aern on me. I'm the one trying to save your bark.” She sighed, looking back at the other Root Guards. “Faulina, you and Seizal pull up that moss bed for a stretcher. Snapdragon, you stay right behind me or Lara at all times. Mavyn, you take up the rear. Let's go be stupid and hope Xalistan is with us.”

“Not Dienox?” Kholburran asked.

“Dienox is already against us.” Mavyn spat.

“We're hunted now,” Lara agreed. “It's Xalistan for us and Gromma for Molls.”

*

Sandwiched between protectors, Kholburran couldn't help checking over his shoulder to ensure Malli was still suspended on the remnants of their mossy bed between Faulina and Seizal. She lay on her side, the vinous color of her heartwood obscured by his makeshift attempt at arborism, but he couldn't help but see it jutting out sickeningly just below the base of her breastplate in his mind's eye.

Can I really heal that?
he thought in dismay.

Marriage was rare among the Vael, more so among the royals, and even less common with princes expected to Take Root. It bound them together and made them one far more literally than the matrimonial joining amongst other races. Kholburran was counting on the rejuvenating effect it had on both germinator and pollinator, renewing both individuals physically as it reworked them . . . optimizing the pair for pollination with each other—resprouting them as hybridizations of what they were before.

But that wasn't all there was to it; their spirits became linked so strongly that injuries to one could wound them both. That link would extend Malli's life tremendously, making her nigh immortal once he eventually Took Root. As a Root Wife she would be his voice and his caretaker, deciding who could use his pollen to produce sproutlings, and his strength would be her strength.

It was a price Kholburran was willing, even eager, to pay. But would Malli want that for herself? He knew she liked him, hoped she loved him as much as he loved her, but it was so hard to tell with girl-type persons. They were so intent on the physical, on . . . gardening. Saying whatever they thought he wanted to hear and then . . .

True, Malli had never shown any interest in proper pollination, just in being together the way Aern and Vael were together . . . and that certainly couldn't produce any sproutlings between two Vael. It was pleasurable and fun, but was that all it was to Malli? He didn't think it was. Even so, this wasn't how he had intended to propose; he'd hoped she would handle that part, though he'd begun to fear she wasn't thinking along those lines. . . .

“Eyes forward,” Lara snapped as she drew and fired over Arri, who moved, sword at the ready in her left hand, killing a Zaur as it came lurching out of a nearby passage. “You just might get the chance to use that warpick of yours.”

Kholburran winced at the stump of Arri's right arm, where she'd hacked it off at the break.

“What?” Arri asked, noticing his gaze, “you weren't planning on marrying me, too, were you?”

Kholburran shook his head, flushing.

“Then don't worry about my limb. It will grow back all on its own. Though I wouldn't mind a little gardening myself if you're interested.”