PROLOGUE: MIND DEMONS
:: 333 ar winter ::
it was the night before new moon, during the darkest hours when
even that bare sliver had set. In a small patch of true darkness beneath the
thick boughs of a cluster of trees, an evil essence seeped up from the Core.
The dark mist coalesced slowly into a pair of giant demons, their rough
brown skin knobbed and gnarled like tree bark. Standing nine feet at the
shoulder, their hooked claws dug at the frozen scrub and pine of the forest
floor as they sniffed at the air. A low rumble sounded in their throats as black
eyes scanned their surroundings.
Satisfied, they moved apart and squatted on their haunches, coiled and
ready to spring. Behind them, the patch of true darkness deepened, corruption
blackening the forest bed as another pair of ethereal shapes materialized.
These were slender, barely five feet tall, with soft charcoal flesh quite unlike
the gnarled armor of their larger brethren. On the ends of delicate fingers and
toes, their claws seemed fragile— thin and straight like a woman’s manicured
nail. Their sharp teeth were short, only a single row set in a snoutless mouth.
Their heads were bloated, with huge, lidless eyes and high, conical craniums.
The flesh over their skulls was knobbed and textured, pulsing around
the vestigial nubs of horns.
For long moments, the two newcomers stared at each other, foreheads
throbbing, as a vibration passed in the air between them.
One of the larger demons caught movement in the brush and reached out
with frightening quickness to snatch a rat from its cover. The coreling
brought the rodent up close, studying it curiously. As it did, the demon’s
snout became ratlike, nose and whiskers twitching as it grew a pair of long
incisors. The coreling’s tongue slithered out to test their sharpness.
One of the slender demons turned to regard it, forehead pulsing. With a
flick of its claw, the mimic demon eviscerated the rat and cast it aside. At the
command of the coreling princes, the two mimics changed shape, becoming
enormous wind demons.
The mind demons hissed as they left the patch of true darkness and
starlight struck them. Their breath fogged with the cold, but they gave no
sign of discomfort, leaving clawed footprints in the snow. The mimics bent
low, and the coreling princes walked up their wings to take perch on their
backs as they leapt into the sky.
They passed over many drones as they winged north. Big and small,
these all cowered until the coreling princes passed, only to follow the call left
vibrating in their wake.
The mimics landed on a high rise, and the mind demons slid down to the
ground, taking in the sight below. A vast army spread out on the plain, white
tents dotting the land where the snow had been trampled to mud and frozen
solid. Great humped beasts of burden stood hobbled in circles of power, covered
in blankets against the cold. The wards around the camp were strong, and
sentries, their faces wrapped in black cloth, patrolled its perimeter. Even from
this distance, the mind demons could sense the power of theirwarded weapons.
Beyond the camp’s wards, the bodies of dozens of drones littered the
field, waiting for the day star to burn them away.
Flame drones were the first to reach the rise where the princes waited.
Keeping a respectful distance, they began to dance in worship, shrieking
their devotion.
Another throb, and the drones quieted. The night grew deathly silent
even as a great demon host gathered, drawn to the call of the coreling
princes. Wood and flame drones stood side by side, their racial hatred forgotten,
as wind drones circled in the sky above.
Ignoring the congregation, the mind demons kept their eyes on the plain
below, their craniums pulsing. After a moment, one glanced to its mimic, imparting
its desires, and the creature ’s flesh melted and swelled, taking the
form of a massive rock demon. Silently, the gathered drones followed it
down the hill.
On the rise, the two princes and the remaining mimic waited. And
watched.
When they were close to the camp, still under the cover of darkness, the
mimic slowed and waved the flame drones ahead.
The smallest and weakest of corelings, flame drones glowed about the
eyes and mouth from the fires within them. The sentries spotted them immediately
but the drones were quick, and before the sentries could raise an
alarm they were upon the wards, spitting fire.
The firespit fizzled where it struck the wards, but at the mind demons’
bidding, the drones focused instead on the piled snow outside the perimeter,
their breath instantly turning it to scalding steam. Safe behind the wards, the
sentries were unharmed, but a hot, thick fog arose, stinging their eyes and
tainting the air even through their veils.
One of the sentries ran off through the camp, ringing a loud bell. As he
did, the others darted fearlessly beyond the wards to skewer the nearest flame
demons on their warded spears. Magic sparked as the weapons punched
through their sharp, overlapping scales.
Other drones attacked from the sides, but the sentries worked in unison,
their warded shields covering one another as they fought. Shouts could be
heard inside the camp as other warriors rushed to join in the battle.
But under cover of fog and dark, the mimic’s host advanced. One moment
the sentries’ cries were of victory, and the next they were of shock as
the demons emerged from the haze.
The mimic took the first human it encountered easily, sweeping the man’s
feet away with its heavy tail and snatching a flailing leg as he fell. The hapless
warrior was lifted aloft by the limb, his spine cracked like a whip. Those
unlucky warriors who faced the mimic next were beaten down by the body
of their fallen comrade.
The other drones followed suit, with mixed success. The few sentries
were quickly overwhelmed, but many drones were slow to take advantage,
wasting precious time rending the dead bodies rather than preparing for the
next wave of warriors.
More and more of the veiled men flowed out of the camp, falling quickly
into ranks and killing with smooth, brutal efficiency. The wards on their
weapons and shields flared repeatedly in the darkness.
Up on the rise, the mind demons watched the battle impassively, showing
no concern for the drones falling to the enemy spears. There was a throb in
the cranium of one as it sent a command to its mimic on the field.
Immediately, the mimic hurled the corpse into one of the wardposts
around the camp, smashing it and creating a breach. Up on the rise, there was
another throb, and the other corelings broke off from engaging the warriors
and poured through the gap into the enemy camp.
Left off balance, the warriors turned back to see tents blazing as flame
drones scurried about, and hear the screams of their women and children as
the larger corelings broke through charred and scorched inner wards.
The warriors cried out and rushed to their loved ones, all semblance of
order lost. In moments the tight, invincible units had fragmented into thousands
of separate creatures, little more than prey.
It seemed as if the camp would be overrun and burned to the ground, but
then a figure appeared from the central pavilion. He was clad in black, like
the warriors, but his outer robe, headwrap, and veil were the purest white. At
his brow was a circlet of gold, and in his hands was a great spear of shining
metal. The coreling princes hissed at the sight.
There were cries at the man’s approach. The mind demons sneered at the
primitive grunts and yelps that passed for communication among men, but
the meaning was clear. The others were drones. This one was their mind.
Under the domination of the newcomer, the warriors remembered their
castes and returned to their previous cohesion. A unit broke off to seal the
outer breach. Another two fought fire. One more ushered the defenseless to
safety.
Thus freed, the remainder scoured the camp, and the drones could not
long stand against them. In minutes the camp was as littered with coreling
bodies as the field outside. The mimic, still disguised as a rock demon, was
soon the only coreling left, too quick to be taken by spear but unable to break
through the wall of shields without revealing its true self.
There was a throb from the rise, and the mimic vanished into a shadow,
dematerializing and seeping out of the camp through a tiny gap in the wards.
The enemy was still searching for it when the mimic returned to its place by
its master’s side.
The two slender corelings stood atop the rise for several minutes, silent
vibrations passing between them. Then, as one, the coreling princes turned
their eyes to the north, where the other human mind was said to be.
One of the mind demons turned to its mimic, kneeling back in the form
of a gigantic wind demon, and walked up its extended wing. As it vanished
into the night, the remaining mind demon turned back to regard the smoldering
enemy camp.
SECTION 1
VICTORY WITHOUT HONOR
CHAPTER 1
FORT RIZON
:: 333 ar winter ::
fort rizon’s wall was a joke.
Barely ten feet high and only one thick, the entire city’s defenses were
less than the meanest of a Damaji’s dozen palaces. The Watchers didn’t even
need their steel- shod ladders; most simply leapt to catch the lip of the tiny
wall and pulled themselves up and over.
“People so weak and negligent deserve to be conquered,” Hasik said.
Jardir grunted but said nothing.
The advance guard of Jardir’s elite warriors had come under cover of
darkness, thousands of sandaled feet crunching the fallow, snow- covered
fields surrounding the city proper. As the greenlanders cowered behind their
wards, the Krasians had braved the demon- infested night to advance. Even
corelings gave berth to so many Holy Warriors on the move.
They gathered before the city, but the veiled warriors did not attack immediately.
Men did not attack other men in the night. When dawn’s light
began to fill the sky, they lowered their veils, that their enemies might see
their faces.
There were a few brief grunts as the Watchers subdued the guards in the
gatehouse, and then a creak as the city gates opened wide to admit Jardir’s
host. With a roar, six thousand dal’Sharum warriors poured into the city.
Before the Rizonans even knew what was happening, the Krasians were
upon them, kicking in doors and dragging the men out of their beds, hurling
them naked into the snow.
With its seemingly endless arable land, Fort Rizon was more populous by
far than Krasia, but Rizonan men were not warriors, and they fell before
Jardir’s trained ranks like grass before the scythe. Those who struggled suffered
torn muscle and broken bone. Those who fought, died.
Jardir looked at all of these in sorrow. Every man crippled or killed was
one who could not find glory in Sharak Ka, the Great War, but it was a necessary
evil. He could not forge the men of the North into a weapon against
demonkind without first tempering them as the smith’s hammer did the
speartip.
Women screamed as Jardir’s men tempered them in another fashion. Another
necessary evil. Sharak Ka was nigh, and the coming generation of warriors
had to spring from the seeds of men, not cowards.
After some time, Jardir’s son Jayan dropped to one knee in the snow before
him, his speartip red with blood. “The inner city is ours, Father,” Jayan
said.
Jardir nodded. “If we control the inner city, we control the plain.”
Jayan had done well on his first command. Had this been a battle against
demons, Jardir would have led the charge himself, but he would not stain the
Spear of Kaji with human blood. Jayan was young to wear the white veil of
captain, but he was Jardir’s firstborn, Blood of the Deliverer himself. He was
strong, impervious to pain, and warrior and cleric alike stepped with reverence
around him.
“Many have fled,” Asome added, appearing at his brother’s back. “They
will warn the hamlets, who will flee also, escaping the cleansing of Evejan
law.”
Jardir looked at him. Asome was a year younger than his brother, smaller
and more slender. He was clad in a dama’s white robes without armor or
weapon, but Jardir was not fooled. His second son was easily the more ambitious
and dangerous of the two, and they more so than any of their dozens
of younger brothers.
“They escape for now,” Jardir said, “but they leave their food stores behind
and flee into the soft ice that covers the green lands in winter. The weak
will die, sparing us the trouble of killing them, and my yoke will find the
strong in due time. You have done well, my sons. Jayan, assign men to find
buildings suitable to hold the captives before they die from cold. Separate the
boys for Hannu Pash. If we can beat the Northern weakness out of them,
perhaps some can rise above their fathers. The strong men we will use as
fodder in battle, and the weak will be slaves. Any women of fertile age may
be bred.”
Jayan struck a fist to his chest and nodded.
“Asome, signal the other dama to begin,” Jardir said, and Asome bowed.
Jardir watched his white- clad son as he strode off to obey. The clerics
would spread the word of Everam to the chin, and those who did not accept
it into their hearts would have it thrust down their throats.
Necessary evil.
That afternoon, Jardir paced the thick- carpeted floors of the manse he had
taken as his Rizonan palace. It was a pitiful place compared with his palaces
in Krasia, but after months of sleeping in tents since leaving the Desert
Spear, it was a welcome touch of civilization.
In his right hand, Jardir clutched the Spear of Kaji, using it as one might
a walking stick. He needed no support, of course, but the ancient weapon
had brought about his rise to power, and it was never far from his grasp. The
butt thumped against the carpet with each step.
“Abban is late,” Jardir said. “Even traveling with the women after dawn,
he should have been here by now.”
“I will never understand why you tolerate that khaffit in your presence,
Father,” Asome said. “The pig- eater should be put to death for even having
raised his eyes to look upon you, and yet you take his counsel as if he were an
equal in your court.”
“Kaji himself bent khaffit to the tasks that suited them,” Jardir said.
“Abban knows more about the green lands than anyone, and that is knowledge
a wise leader must use.”
“What is there to know?” Jayan asked. “The greenlanders are all cowards
and weaklings, no better than khaffit themselves. They are not even
worthy to fight as slaves and fodder.”
“Do not be so quick to claim you know all there is,” Jardir said. “Only
Everam knows all things. The Evejah tells us to know our enemies, and we
know very little of the North. If I am to bring them into the Great War, I
must do more than just kill them, more than just dominate. I must understand
them. And if all the men of the green lands are no better than khaffit, who
better than a khaffit to explain their hearts to me?”
Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Abban came limping into
the room. As always, the fat merchant was dressed in rich, womanly silks and
fur— a garish display that he seemed to wear intentionally for the offense it
gave to the austere dama and dal’Sharum.
The guards mocked and shoved him as he passed, but they knew better
than to deny Abban entry. Whatever their personal feelings, hindering
Abban risked Jardir’s wrath, something no man wanted.
The crippled khaffit leaned heavily on his cane as he approached Jardir’s
throne, sweat pearling on his reddened, doughy face despite the cold. Jardir
looked at him in disgust. It was clear he brought important news, but Abban
stood panting, attempting to catch his breath, instead of sharing it.
“What is it?” Jardir snapped when his patience grew thin.
“You must do something!” Abban gasped. “They are burning the granaries!”
“What?!” Jardir demanded, leaping to his feet and grabbing Abban’s
arm, squeezing so hard the khaffit cried out in pain. “Where?”
“The north ward of the city,” Abban said. “You can see the smoke from
your door.”
Jardir rushed out onto the front steps, immediately spotting the rising
column. He turned to Jayan. “Go,” he said. “I want the fires out, and those
responsible brought before me.”
Jayan nodded and vanished into the streets, trained warriors flowing in
behind him like birds in formation. Jardir turned back to Abban.
“You need that grain if you are to feed the people through the winter,”
Abban said. “Every seed. Every crumb. I warned you.”
Asome shot forward, snatching Abban’s wrist and twisting his arm hard
behind him. Abban screamed. “You will not address the Shar’Dama Ka in
such a tone!” Asome growled.
“Enough,” Jardir said.
Abban fell to his knees the moment Asome released him, placing both
hands on the steps and pressing his forehead between them. “Ten thousand
pardons, Deliverer,” he said.
“I heard your coward’s counsel against advancing into the Northern
cold,” Jardir said as Abban whimpered on the ground. “But I will not delay
Everam’s work because of this . . .” he kicked at the snow on the steps,
“sandstorm of ice. If we need food, we will take it from the chin in the surrounding
land, who live in plenty.”
“Of course, Shar’Dama Ka,” Abban said into the floor.
“You took far too long to arrive, khaffit,” Jardir said. “I need you to find
your merchant contacts among the captives.”
“If they are still alive,” Abban said. “Hundreds lie dead in the streets.”
Jardir shrugged. “Your fault for being so slow. Go, question your fellow
traders and find me the leaders of these men.”
“The dama will have me killed the moment I issue a command, even if it
be in your name, great Shar’Dama Ka,” Abban said.
It was true enough. Under Evejan law, any khaffit daring to command his
betters was put to death on the spot, and there were many who envied
Abban’s place on Jardir’s council and would be glad to see his end.
“I will send Asome with you,” Jardir said. “Not even the most fanatical
cleric will challenge you then.”
Abban blanched as Asome came forward, but he nodded. “As the Shar’-
Dama Ka commands.”
