Chapter 352 - The Body Politic part 10

After we readied ourselves, Zenzele and I walked the wooded path on the north side of the mountain, the Path of the Guardians, to the encampment of our blood drinker warriors. The military compound resided outside the city, halfway between Penthos and the open field where our friend Goro, the last of the Neanderthals, had fallen in battle. We took the long path so that we could have a moment of privacy, and walked hand-in-hand like two mortal lovers. Although Zenzele was impatient to get on with our duties, I needed some time to reflect. I am not by nature a violent man, and all our talk of war and killing had left my spirit feeling battered. I have never understood why men would rather fight and die than stay home and make babies. Make love, not war; that has ever been my philosophy. Laugh if you will, but I have never thought the sentiment ridiculous or trite.

As we walked, I relished the tangy scent of the pine trees, inhaling deeply. Tufts of cumuli nested the moon, their edges gleaming like mother-of-pearl. Zenzele's hand was small and cool in mine. She glanced at me and smiled, her teeth very white in the moonlight, her fangs tiny and sharp as needles, and for a moment the urge to sweep her off into the woods and make love to her nearly overwhelmed me.

She saw the look in my eyes and laughed.

"What?" I asked defensively.

"You are so predictable," she said.

"I rather thought the opposite was true."

"Not in your desires."

I conceded with a chuckle.

We continued on, remarking on the strangely shaped outcroppings of rock that edged the path. The stones looked very human in the gloom, like dozing giants.

"I once knew a woman who looked just like that one," I said, pointing.

"Stout woman."

"There is a lot to be said for plump women," I replied. "They are often good natured and very comfortable to lay upon."

"As opposed to bony women?"

"They have their virtues as well. Flexibility for one."

Zenzele smacked me on the arm with a smile.

A small retinue was waiting for us at the foot of the mountain. We followed them to the exercise grounds where Bhorg and Drago had assembled several divisions of our blood drinker soldiers. With only a modest preamble, Bhorg put the men through their paces. Watching them leap through the air in mock battle, I had to admit that I was quite impressed. There is an appalling beauty to such coordinated brutality. I watched as they performed complicated maneuvers on the ground, flitting back and forth so quickly it was hard for me to follow their movements. It was like a dance.

As Bhorg drilled the men, Drago explained the theory behind some of the more complex exercises. Many of them, he explained, were designed to incapacitate Eternals. "The Clan Masters will be our most dangerous adversaries when we engage the God King's forces in battle," Drago said. "They cannot be killed, and they are incredibly powerful and fast, but with our warriors fighting in unison, even an Eternal can be overwhelmed and rendered incapable of battle. Observe."

Drago strode out among the troops, barking orders at the men. Five warriors moved into position, encircling him as the rest of the platoon retired to the sidelines.

"A demonstration for the Father!" Drago pronounced. "Show him what we will do to the Masters of Uroboros!"

At Drago's signal, the five immortal warriors closed on their commander. Drago defended himself admirably, arms and legs whipping in deadly whistling arcs, but his opponents dodged and weaved around his blows, edging in closer and closer until they were finally able to lay hands on the whirling Eternal. Drago grappled with them fiercely, throwing one man off, and then a second, but despite his superior strength and speed, he was finally subdued and lifted bodily from the ground. Holding their commander by his wrists and ankles, Drago's warriors pivoted their bodies and yanked in opposing directions. The effect was immediate and gruesome. All four of Drago's limbs were torn from their sockets. I winced in sympathy as the Eternal's limbless torso fell to the ground with a thud. We Eternals might be unkillable, but we still feel pain, and I knew what it was like to be ripped apart like that.

Drago's valet scurried onto the field, followed by two mortal assistants, one bearing a vessel of blood. Working in unison, the three put the Eternal back together again. They placed the pieces where they belonged (checking that the right arm and leg were on the right side, and the left on the left side) and poured the mortal blood over the grisly knobs. They did all of this as if it were a routine occurrence. I watched as the Living Blood drew Drago's limbs back into their sockets and stitched the tattered edges together. Moments later, the Eternal was clambering to his feet and striding towards us. I could tell by his expression that he was eager to hear my opinion.

I did not have much to criticize. The fighting abilities of Drago's warriors far surpassed my own martial skills, even with my access to the God King's memories. Contrary to what you might think, Shared memory is not muscle memory; it is not instinct or training. One cannot drink the blood of a skilled pianist and sit down and play Mozart's "Rondo alla turca". I confessed as much and told the raven-haired immortal that I was pleased with the training our warriors had received. "I doubt anyone could do any better, my friend," I said, and Drago bowed deeply, his gray eyes gleaming with pride. "You too, Bhorg," I said, turning to the big barbarian, who was walking across the field to join us. "Well done."

Bhorg maintained a stern expression, but he was happy.

As Drago detailed some of the other combat techniques he and Bhorg were currently developing, I became aware of a sort of keening hum. It was very distant, almost beyond the range of my senses, and so high pitched that a mortal man would not have been able to perceive it. It sounded almost like the whining of a mosquito, but I knew it was no mosquito. I gestured for Drago to be silent and cocked my head to hear it better.

"What is it?" Zenzele asked. She knew my senses were very fine.

I looked across the piebald mountains, eyes narrowed, trying to pinpoint the source of the keening sound. Was it… whistling? The Ural's looming peaks batted the sound to and fro like a child's ball, making it difficult for me to identify what it was, or just where exactly it was coming from.

"Something strange," I said. "It is a sound, but like no sound I've heard before."

At my side, Zenzele closed her eyes and let her head drop back. That very instant, I felt her Eye fly out from the center of her forehead, invisible and soundless. As always, I had the impression that a silver thread, quivering with mysterious energies, had unspooled from her mind and gone whizzing away into the sky, fine as spider silk. I waited while she searched the benighted landscape, her Eye ranging further and further away, twitching this way and that. And then all at once she drew it back into herself.

Fluttering her eyes like a startled sleeper, she turned to me with a smile.

"It is Sunni and Chaumas!" she exclaimed. "They have returned with another piece of your body!"