of her profession. She closed the door behind her, then gestured to the cart. “She’s ready.”
Voren stared down at the infant girl. The newest Hardohl. Not a single strand of sorcery could touch the babe. But, like beauty, her special ability was only skin deep. Unfortunately, the mierothi had discovered ways around that.
“She’s fully dosed, Kitavijj?” asked Rekaj.
“Yes, emperor.” The mierothi female began preparing her medical instruments. Voren did not know what most of them did. He supposed it didn’t matter. “The herbs are fully in effect. She won’t feel much.”
Voren’s stomach began to churn. He tried to ignore it.
Rekaj turned to him. “You first. Are you ready?”
Kitavijj brought a scalpel over the child’s spine. Voren turned away, grasping hold of the prepared blessing and his spiked chisel as an excuse to keep busy. “Ready.”
He forced himself to think of something, anything, as the mother phyzari conducted her final preparations of the babe. His thoughts drifted again to the strange behavior of the mierothi. All of them. He still didn’t know what had made them so antsy, and his ignorance weighed on him. He would have to press for answers soon.
The voice of Kitavijj brought him around. “Quickly now, Voren.”
He turned and stepped up to the cart, blessing in hand. He did his best to ignore the child’s pained whimpering. He opened the jar of glowing ink, dipped his instrument in, and set to work.
He’d done this countless times. No—he had counted them, he just didn’t like to contemplate the number. His only respite was the fact that the movements were second nature. He let his hands work while his brain remained elsewhere. He scratched the blessing, little by little, into the exposed vertebrae, praying to Elos to keep his nausea at bay. The child’s rising wail did not help matters.
After three grueling marks, the ink in the jar dried up, and the last of the inscriptions fell into place. Voren wiped the sweat from his brow. “Done.”
The flesh began reknitting before his eyes. Kitavijj moved in and placed instruments to keep the wound open. “Emperor,” she said.
Rekaj moved forward. His tools were nearly identical to Voren’s, a blessing raped from the same number of mierothi as there were Voren’s kin trapped in stasis. He had seen them. They wandered the palace grounds, aimlessly, eyes glazed, ever confused, as if a wall had been erected between them and reality. Voren thought his brethren had the better part of that deal.
Two blessings then, working separately, yet in harmony. Their combined efforts, plus a lifetime of training and indoctrination, turned simple voids into unstoppable killing machines. All perfectly loyal to the empire. He shuddered, placing a hand to his stomach.
Rekaj set his spike to the child. “Get out, Voren. Your face offends me, just now.”
Voren nodded, not even caring about the insult. He rushed out of the room.
The hallway was empty, save Kael. The man gave Voren a strange look, but he ignored it. He turned away and fell to the ground, spewing the last two days’ worth of meals onto the floor.
“Something the matter?” Kael asked.
Voren shook his head as he wiped the bile from his lips. Why is this affecting me so much? He had never reacted this way, not since the first few times. Not since he had still clung to hope like a child to the hem of his mother’s dress.
He knew what had caused the change.
Draevenus, why did you have to make me remember? Why did you have to make me care?
Chapter 5
D EAD SENTRY ’ S BLOOD on his fingertips and the storm on a low rumble. Mevon smiled. How fitting that things should end as they began.
From the shallow cliff top, Mevon peered over the rebel camp. Hundred of tents and nearly as many fires lay nestled in the valley. All but a few outer sentries, such as the one at his feet, had retired for the night. Their enemy was too reliant upon their natural defenses. This would be
Voren stared down at the infant girl. The newest Hardohl. Not a single strand of sorcery could touch the babe. But, like beauty, her special ability was only skin deep. Unfortunately, the mierothi had discovered ways around that.
“She’s fully dosed, Kitavijj?” asked Rekaj.
“Yes, emperor.” The mierothi female began preparing her medical instruments. Voren did not know what most of them did. He supposed it didn’t matter. “The herbs are fully in effect. She won’t feel much.”
Voren’s stomach began to churn. He tried to ignore it.
Rekaj turned to him. “You first. Are you ready?”
Kitavijj brought a scalpel over the child’s spine. Voren turned away, grasping hold of the prepared blessing and his spiked chisel as an excuse to keep busy. “Ready.”
He forced himself to think of something, anything, as the mother phyzari conducted her final preparations of the babe. His thoughts drifted again to the strange behavior of the mierothi. All of them. He still didn’t know what had made them so antsy, and his ignorance weighed on him. He would have to press for answers soon.
The voice of Kitavijj brought him around. “Quickly now, Voren.”
He turned and stepped up to the cart, blessing in hand. He did his best to ignore the child’s pained whimpering. He opened the jar of glowing ink, dipped his instrument in, and set to work.
He’d done this countless times. No—he had counted them, he just didn’t like to contemplate the number. His only respite was the fact that the movements were second nature. He let his hands work while his brain remained elsewhere. He scratched the blessing, little by little, into the exposed vertebrae, praying to Elos to keep his nausea at bay. The child’s rising wail did not help matters.
After three grueling marks, the ink in the jar dried up, and the last of the inscriptions fell into place. Voren wiped the sweat from his brow. “Done.”
The flesh began reknitting before his eyes. Kitavijj moved in and placed instruments to keep the wound open. “Emperor,” she said.
Rekaj moved forward. His tools were nearly identical to Voren’s, a blessing raped from the same number of mierothi as there were Voren’s kin trapped in stasis. He had seen them. They wandered the palace grounds, aimlessly, eyes glazed, ever confused, as if a wall had been erected between them and reality. Voren thought his brethren had the better part of that deal.
Two blessings then, working separately, yet in harmony. Their combined efforts, plus a lifetime of training and indoctrination, turned simple voids into unstoppable killing machines. All perfectly loyal to the empire. He shuddered, placing a hand to his stomach.
Rekaj set his spike to the child. “Get out, Voren. Your face offends me, just now.”
Voren nodded, not even caring about the insult. He rushed out of the room.
The hallway was empty, save Kael. The man gave Voren a strange look, but he ignored it. He turned away and fell to the ground, spewing the last two days’ worth of meals onto the floor.
“Something the matter?” Kael asked.
Voren shook his head as he wiped the bile from his lips. Why is this affecting me so much? He had never reacted this way, not since the first few times. Not since he had still clung to hope like a child to the hem of his mother’s dress.
He knew what had caused the change.
Draevenus, why did you have to make me remember? Why did you have to make me care?
Chapter 5
D EAD SENTRY ’ S BLOOD on his fingertips and the storm on a low rumble. Mevon smiled. How fitting that things should end as they began.
From the shallow cliff top, Mevon peered over the rebel camp. Hundred of tents and nearly as many fires lay nestled in the valley. All but a few outer sentries, such as the one at his feet, had retired for the night. Their enemy was too reliant upon their natural defenses. This would be
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