Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(92)

Long ago, she’d traded the palace for the army, because on the battlefield the criteria for success were clear. It was all about performance, and that was something she could control. Now she was thrust back into the most dangerous game of all—the game of politics.

Lyss cast about for a safer topic, one that went to tactics. “I am curious about the bloodsworn. I saw them in action at Chalk Cliffs. Are they born or made? What, exactly, are their advantages over line soldiers?”

The empress smiled. “I was hoping you would ask. Come and see for yourself.” She stood, and then descended the steps at the edge of the terrace. Lyss followed.

They went down several more flights, until they stood on the lowest level, overlooking a parade ground.

Below, soldiers were drilling—hundreds of infantry, cavalry, both men and women, all dressed like Lyss. They were practicing maneuvers, riding hard, then pivoting, eddying across the barren landscape like some inland sea.

Scummer, Lyss thought, fighting off despair. I thought it was bad when it was just the king of Arden we had to contend with.

“What do you think?” the empress said, nearly into Lyss’s ear, making her jump.

“Are these all bloodsworn?”

Celestine nodded. “The bloodsworn are made mages. Their capabilities depend on the strength of the blood mage who creates them. Mine have unmatched physical strength and stamina.”

Based on what she’d seen at Chalk Cliffs, Lyss had to agree. But when she looked closer at the troops below, the eddies and whirlpools seemed random, pointless, poorly coordinated. It wasn’t clear, exactly, what these exercises were supposed to accomplish. She knew from experience that practicing chaos on the parade ground results in chaos on the battlefield. Then again, the queendom had never had the numbers to take a melee approach to battle strategy. It valued its soldiers too highly.

Is this my future? she thought. Am I going to be marching in the middle of a mob like this, attacking my homeland?

“If I may ask—how do you go about ‘making’ them?” Lyss tried to keep the revulsion off her face.

“I come from a long line of blood mages with the ability to intervene at the point of death and bring people back as bloodsworn—unfailingly loyal warriors who require little in the way of sustenance. They are fearless, because they feel no pain. The Nazari once dominated the east with their Immortals—the perfect army.” She paused. “We have lost strength over the years. Our powers are diluted, and our warriors are not so perfect these days. But they are still damned good. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Lyss wanted to say that she’d already seen too much of the bloodsworn, but she stood silently while Celestine called down orders to her officers. They pulled two soldiers from the ranks and lined them up, facing each other, each armed with a curved Carthian sword. Then, apparently, the officers ordered them to go at it.

Lyss was a veteran of the battlefield, and so no stranger to bloodshed, but she’d never seen anything like this. It wasn’t a matter of skill—neither was practiced in swordplay. They simply whacked at each other with a dogged determination, oblivious to injury. Blood spattered the ground around them—and, eventually, severed limbs. The fact that they seemed to be fairly evenly matched only prolonged the butchery. Even on the ground, they kept flailing until their officers waded in and beheaded them.

Lyss felt the pressure of the empress’s eyes. No doubt this was intended as a test, a promise, and a warning. So Lyss kept her chin up, shoulders back, expression as blank as she could manage.

“Impressive,” she said, since Celestine seemed to be expecting a comment. “How many troops do you have to put into this fight?”

“Thousands,” the empress said, “and I have the ability to recruit more—as many as needed.”

“Success in battle depends on more than numbers, Empress,” Lyss said. “It depends on the motivation, strengths, and limitations of your troops and the skill and experience of your commanders. Otherwise, the queendom of the Fells would be part of the Ardenine Empire.”

“I agree,” the empress said, looking pleased. “I’ve been impressed with what you have been able to accomplish with so little. It makes me wonder what you could do with unlimited resources.”

I guess we’ll never know, Lyss thought. It brought to mind the debriefing sessions at the end of every marching season, when everyone agreed that their fighters were the best in the world, and patted themselves on the back—celebrating surviving for another year.

She studied the troops again, trying to pick out the officers. A lot of shouting was going on, but it seemed to have little effect. Wondering if she dared speak her mind, she looked sideways at the empress. “Frankly, they look a little ragged to me.”

“I’m finding that the bloodsworn are excellent fighters, when somebody tells them what to do. They are not very creative when it comes to tactics and strategy,” Celestine said. “The best strategists are those who are at risk of dying. They have to worry about what will happen if they lose.”

Lyss had never considered that. “So the bloodsworn are not good officer material?”

“Not really. Most of my officers are not bloodsworn. Captain Samara, for example. It presents a risk, because, while the bloodsworn are unfailingly loyal, the officers may not be.”

Why are you telling me this? Lyss thought.