“NO OTHER WARDKEEPER BEARS RESPONSIBILTY TO EMINENCE AS DOES YOU. EMINENCE IS WEAKENING, WITH IT, THE WORLD WE HAVE SO VALIANTLY FOUGHT OVER REMAINS BROKEN IN ZENITH’S JEALOUSY. WITHOUT A GODSBLOOD ASCENDING TO EMINENCE, WE WILL ONLY FEAR THE END. A GREAT TASK IS NOW AT YOUR FEET.”
Zenith’s jealousy? What jealousy? What task, my Goddess? If it is in my bones and soul, it shall be done.
“THE SEALS TO EMINENCE MUST BE SHATTERED.”
No! They mustn’t. We cannot allow the Fallen into the city.
“THIS IS THE ONLY WAY, LOJEN TEVUNSON. THE GODSBLOOD HAS THE POWER TO BECOME GODSLAYER. IT MUST HAPPEN. SHE MUST BEAR MY HAMMER BEFORE SHE CAN WIELD THE AXE, MANTLE, AND CROWN.”
I can’t. That goes against everything a wardkeeper stands for.
“HEED US. THIS IS THE ONLY WAY. THE SEALS MUST BREAK. AND THE DRACONEM GUARDING MUST ALSO PERISH FOR THEY ARE THE TRUE SEALS.”
The draconem? Those are Your favored children, my Goddess. How can I do this?
“YOU MUST CALL THEM FORTH. THE GODSBLOOD MUST SING THE SONG OF WAR. ONLY THEN WILL THEY KNOW THE GODSLAYER HAS COME FORTH. IT IS WHAT THEY GUARD FOR, LOJEN TEVUNSON. THEY AWAIT THE GODSLAYER. SEE IT SO.”
But I lost the Seal of Terris, I failed You.
“THE SEALS WERE NEVER MEANT FOR YOU, WARDKEEPER. THE SEALS ARE MEANT FOR ONE AND ONE ONLY. MY HAMMER IS MEANT TO SING THE SONG AND BRING OUR GUARDIANS HOME.”
“Your Hammer?” It was then Lojen noticed that the humir hand of the statue was in a fist-like grip, a hole between, as if something was missing from it. “The Hammer!”
“Lojen.” Emre stood a few steps behind, in his hands he held the Hammer of Mother Marrow. The greenish steel glowed from the runes etched into the haft.
“TAKE MINE HAMMER TO THE GODSBLOOD. SEE TO IT THAT THE GODSBLOOD BECOMES THE GODSLAYER. PROTECT EMINENCE.”
“I will.”
Pride swelled within him. Pride at becoming a wardkeeper, being deemed worthy. Pride at proving to his father he could follow in his clawsteps. Pride that he was chosen to become what he’d always dreamt of. Pride in knowing that he could avenge his father’s death. Pride in knowing his family name was redeemed.
“Impressive.” Lojen spun to find Lu Har standing at the top of the stair. Dozens of scourges, all armed to the teeth with wheellock rifles and swords. “Too bad it’s too late.”
Time stood still as the Fallen raised his arm, aetheurgy leaching from his flesh. A spark, a flash ripping as it struck Emre in the stomach. Aether tore through the scion of Drenth and sent him sprawling amongst the columns.
An overwhelming need to protect his ward pricked every nerve ending. A hymn orchestrating the song of war. He knew Justice had brought him to this exact moment, His Hymn of War coming to this crescendo alongside his own canto.
Everything filtered from his vision except for Lu Har. The Temple, the scourges, the statue of Mother Marrow, even Emre who was now dragging himself toward cover amongst the tall columns. Only the Fallen.
Lojen crouched and then flung himself at the source of his ire.
Bullets ricocheted off his exoscales from all directions. None pierced his scales because they were now stronger than diamond, the bullets a mild irritant. His legs pumped, tail parallel to the ground, eyes slitted, roar rumbling in his throat. One man, tall and dark of hair, that’s all he focused on. The cause of his rage. The fire that hurt his ward.
Lojen smashed into the Fallen, the elfir’s body crunching against his, shoulders driving into the other’s gut, legs lifted off the ground, aether crackling. His momentum carried them out of the Temple completely. Tumbling into the sands of the canyon, bodies jostling, flipping, and bouncing. A drake screeched somewhere nearby.
He rolled to his feet, but armed scourges were already firing upon him, the ground a plumage of sand. Barricading the entire Temple grounds were scourges and automatons. Rotating guns and aethecite-powered tanks. All closing in and shooting. Gargantua reigned overhead, blotting out any sunlight that wasn’t held back by the black mist surrounding the canyon.
Lu Har staggered to his feet and was encircled by his scourges, barking orders, gesturing with his hands. Lojen heard only sounds, the words drowned out by his inner inferno. The gunfire ceased as it did no damage to his body, somehow, someway he was unhurt. He knew it was the horns of a wardkeeper, of the aether in his essence. Robotic arms creaked as weapons were drawn back. Down came a red streak, plucking the Fallen from the scene in a whoosh of wings.
Lojen wanted blood.
He roared at the top of his lungs, raising the Hammer of Mother Marrow. The runes all along the haft were near blinding. Aether filled his vision, engulfed his soul. Berserk he went.
Scourges with aethecite-electrified batons raced in to subdue him with aetheurgy-enhanced strength and speed, but Lojen was far past the threshold of an enhanced humir. His muscles strained as he jumped into the pack, grabbing men and women by their arms, shoulders, anything he could get his claws on and flung them about. He swung the Hammer, its radiant emerald head colliding with flesh and metal alike. Electric barbs prodded him, sending jolts throughout his body, but his mind barely registered the pain.
Lost in the dance of wardkeeping he was.
He grabbed a scourge by the arm and lifted the hapless man, then swung the flailing body in a full arc, using him as a weapon, knocking others back. Releasing the man, he plummeted into his companions, bowling them over, Lojen leaping after, Hammer raised high. Green iron head crushed limbs, snapping, and breaking as he tore through the soldiers with swing after swing.
The scourges retreated from his deadly attacks, giving Lojen a chance to scan the battlefield. Dozens lay dead or wounded. Emre was nowhere to be seen, neither was the Fallen nor the firedrake. He looked skyward but saw nothing but jet-black mist, and it took him a few moments to spot the reddish shape weaving in and out. The great drake discharged a commanding roar and breathed fire.
Lojen’s blood quickened as he gripped the Hammer tighter.
Three humir-driven drones stomped toward him from beyond the ring of scourges. Ten feet tall, broadly built metal chassis draping over the drivers like a harness. Feet and arms clicked into place, controlling heavy metal limbs. Hardened glass protected the driver’s face and upper torso. Robotic arms tipped with gun and sword, aethecite furnaces upon their backs, smoke melding upward into the mist.
Lojen bellowed and crashed into the nearest one, driving one of his claws into the glass shield, cracks formed but it held strong as he brought down the Hammer. The drone’s arm stabbed into his side, sword breaking upon his exoscaled hide. With both fists clutching the Hammer, Lojen beat at the glass, shattering it after the fourth try. He ripped the driver from the harness and tossed him aside, the drone toppling.
The other two attacked him simultaneously, but Lojen was much quicker than the metal beasts. He ducked under one swinging arm and grabbed it, flipping his body into the other, knocking it on its back. The aethecite furnace smashed under his weight, spewing molten pellets everywhere.
Lojen vaulted onto the final metal beast’s back, digging into the space between the shield and the furnace. His claws tore through the gaps and piece by piece he flung metal. The driver tried to throw him off, but Lojen hung on, digging deeper, tearing further until the driver squeaked in fright, opened the harness, and fled. The drone went slack.
The ground all around them shook in the biggest explosion and tremor yet. Lojen spun and saw a humongous pillar of fire and smoke smear the last remaining darkness over the mines where Cadrianna Benld and the Dunleith children were. They had done it, blown the mines.
Everything balanced upon the edge of a sword.
Bloodied but still swimming with aether wrought from Mother Marrow’s grace, Lojen finally spotted Emre. Hammer held before him Lojen fought toward his ward.
