Blood and Iron 4 Read online

  “Not according to the horse,” she replied.

  “You bi-“ before he could finish his thought, the stallion reared back and slammed a hoof into the man’s back, knocking him unconscious at the least.

  Lowering her axe, she approached the animal with a slow, steady motion, just like her mother had taught her. Reaching out her hand, she let the horse close the gap.

  He was brown with white speckles and wizened amber eyes that studied her with an intensity that was unnerving. Pushing back against the trepidation, she whispered. “Of all the horses, why would they leave you?”

  He nuzzled her hand.

  “Tell you what, let’s make a deal. I need to get out of here, and by the looks of it, so do you. What’d you say?”

  The horse snorted in reply.

  “Yeah? So, I’ll just... tighten this saddle... and...” stepping into the stirrup, she climbed atop the stallion.

  “Alright, here we go,” she said, nudging at the reins. The animal responded without protest, galloping out the back of the stables. Turning him north, she leaned forward and whispered into his ears, “Armclair Abbey, and then Arnnor House, and let’s make it quick, we’ve a ship to catch.”

  Chapter 52

  Eldrick D’Eldar

  The Wyrm’s Den

  Braeridge Mountains

  It was a bad plan, hell, it was no plan. Eldrick’s chest tightened as he watched Kren steal forward, vial clenched between his teeth and axes in his hands. In the center of the chamber, the blue wyrm lay motionless, coiled in a heap and bedded down for the winter. Overhead, the glittering glow of the cave painted everything – their bare skin, the stained axes, the serpent’s scales – a pale blue-green. The spy would’ve marveled at the otherworldly spectacle, had he not feared for their lives.

  It was no plan at all, and it knotted his stomach to the point that he wanted to retch. Eldrick was an architect, and had plotted his escape for six months before fleeing Mysthas. So as he stood there at the chamber’s edge and watched the absurd unfold, his heart raced and his pulse throbbed in his ears. The sound was so loud that he was certain he’d arouse the wyrm and they’d both be devoured, but it never moved.

  An arm’s length from the chief of serpents, the titan froze and glanced over his shoulder before rolling the vial to the side of his mouth and flashing the same toothy grin he always did – that impulsive, instinctive look that seemed to fear nothing – a tinge of the primitive crept into D’Eldar.

  Perhaps, sometimes, it’s best just to act.

  Shivering, cold and wet, with nothing but silk-thin braies around his loins and a sword in his hand, Eldrick nodded. He was ready.

  Just nick him, and take maybe a drop or two…

  Iron honed to a razor’s edge rose, glinting green over the wildman’s head.

  No, that’s-

  With a sudden motion, the axes swept down with all the force Kren could muster. The blades met at the same fold in the scales. A loud crack echoed through the chamber, reminding Eldrick of the snapping of the braewood branches as the trees crashed to the forest floor. Purple blood gushed from the wound.

  A screeching rasp filled the room, raising the spy’s hackles and sending an even greater shiver through his body. The titan fumbled with the vial, but he was too slow. Without warning, the snake lurched forward, batting Kren across the room. He groaned as he came to a skidding stop on the cold stone floor.

  Eldrick gasped.

  “Wayfarer, the vial!”

  The top third of the serpent climbed into the air, bobbing, searching for its foe. Redstorm rolled onto his back and leapt up to his feet. With axes spread wide, his body moved with the rhythm of the wyrm.

  Scanning the chamber, Eldrick spotted the vial in the far corner, its cloudy glass glowing like a turquoise will-o’-wisp. Staying low, he dashed along the room’s edge.

  Its cotton-white mouth opened wide, revealing fangs as long as greatswords. They dripped venom from their tips, sizzling the stone where they fell. Black eyes, cold and unblinking, settled on the wildman.

  Rearing back, the chief of serpents surged forward, like a wayward gale off the north slopes. With a shout, the titan rolled to the side, just avoiding its strike. Turning, he chopped down with his own iron fangs, but the snake was too quick.

  With a long hiss, the wyrm slithered through the space, searching for an advantage, never breaking its icy gaze. Kren moved opposite and in tandem, staring back defiantly. His body was loose and fluid, almost mocking in its imitation.

  The second strike was quicker than the first, catching Redstorm by surprise. He sprang backwards, landing awkwardly on one foot and rolling it to the side. Grimacing, he shouted, “Hurry, Wayfarer!”

  The spy scooped up the vial and aimed for the pool of purple blood on the cavern floor. From the corner of its cold eye, the wyrm spotted him. Whirling around, it surged forward, aiming to cut him off. Groaning, Kren started into a limping sprint.

  Leaning forward, Eldrick never stopped. Scraping the vial along the floor, he filled it to the brim before corking it with his teeth and shoving it into the band of his braies. A cruel hiss jerked his head straight up to see the chief of serpents towering overhead. It started forward, before drawing back and filling the chamber with the same screech as before. As the wyrm turned, D’Eldar saw an axe buried in the back of its head.

  “Run! To the pool! Now!”

  So the spy ran.

  The snake slithered after the limping titan. “Left!” Eldrick shouted.

  Kren dove to the side just in time to avoid the fangs. The wyrm’s head slammed into the stone floor, the axe still wedged between its thick scales.

  Leaping through the hole in the wall, the titan landed with a groan and dove straight in the pool. The chief of serpents slid to a stop and whirled, blocking Eldrick’s path. Its alabaster mouth yawned wide and rushed towards him, filling his field of vision with white.

  Without stopping, D’Eldar chopped forward with his sword, releasing it as his arm extended fully. End over end it sailed, until it pierced the soft flesh of the wyrm’s mouth, wedging it open. As the king of serpents hissed and hacked on the blade, the spy climbed through the gap and jumped into the pool.

  Icy water shocked his system once again. His heart threatening to leap from his chest, Eldrick plunged further into the depths. Groping overhead, he felt the ceiling turn up again.

  A fire raged in his chest as his lungs screamed for air. The spasms returned, and with them, the nervous twitching panic that started at his extremities and tremored through his body. At his end, he looked up, but there was no blue-green glow. Nor was there a strong hand to grab him and yank him up. Opening his mouth, he closed his eyes, sucked in water and felt the darkness consume him.

  * * * * *

  Eldrick awoke in the throes of a violent spasm. His chest and nose burned as he retched cave water on the bank. A headache like none he’d ever experienced hobbled him. Kren patted his back in a steady rhythm until the attack subsided. Somewhere to the side, Sand whimpered.

  Laying on his back, the cold shivered his body and quivered his lips. A salty, coppery essence hinted at the back of his throat.

  “How do you feel?”

  D’Eldar groaned. “Like I died.”

  Redstorm snorted. “Because you did.”

  “It certainly feels like it.”

  The titan leaned over him and chuckled. “Because you did.”

  “You’re saying I died?”

  Kren furrowed his brow nodded his head slowly.

  Eldrick sat upright. “Then how am I sitting here now?”

  The wildman help up the vial.

  “You mean?”

  “Welcome back to the land of the living, Eldrick Wyrmblood. Arise, clothe yourself, our friend awaits.”

  Chapter 53

  Rowan Vos

  The Junco

  Calisal Sea

  Rowan eyed the shore. Sand mixed with rocks small and large, it was sparse and brown and uncha
nged from the day before, or the one before that. Beyond, steep cliffs and sharp crags climbed high. Lacking only the haze, it reminded him of A’anglr.

  And the warwitch. And the damned devil worm...

  Waves lapped the boat with a lazy rhythm, carrying the Junco east with no urgency, occasionally splashing over the hull and wetting their boots. The early evening sky was calm, with wispy white clouds and a warm steady breeze. Salt and seaweed tinged the air.

  Huoh-huoh, huoh-huoh-huoh… Gulls squarked in the sky, their calls half-choked but chipper.

  “There’s more than yesterday – gulls that is,” Kassina said to no one in particular. Sitting at the stern, she guided the boat. “Berea should be close. They’d always follow the fish nets back home.”

  Home, the word sounded strange to the thief’s ears. Where was his? The sins had burned the only one he’d ever known. And Ashmor itself was no place to claim. Maybe after Thim Dorul he and Kass could find a fishing village somewhere warm — perhaps on the north shores of the Calisal where Sutton claimed it was safer — and disappear with their portion of the hoard.

  Maybe buy a tavern. But no more burgaling.

  Rowan watched Howland snore in the bottom of the boat, curled up like a dog before a hearth, tarp draped over him. “Poor bastard’s lost everything – his ship, his crew – he’s got nothing.”

  “He didn’t lose as much as his men,” remarked Byard, “but he is without.” Scanning their faces slowly, he added, “Though I would wager most of us here have lost much, too.”

  It was a subject none cared to broach. Together, they drifted along in silence. After a time, the northman said, “Sia, you have hardly spoke. I would know your words before Berea, if it pleases you.”

  “What would you have me say?”

  “You are from Thim Dorul?”

  “It’s more of a home than most, though I haven’t been there in years.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  She was silent for a time, before replying, “My reasons are my own.”

  “That is fair,” Byard conceded. “The past is often a chest best left locked. So, how did you come to be on the ship?”

  Sia hesitated.

  “I was a prisoner, too,” he added. “But Just Rowan released me with his magery, so I swore an oath to him. That is my story.”

  “You’re a mage?” she asked.

  Studying her eyes for a time, he replied. “I am.” He cursed the northman’s mouth under his breath.

  “What kind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, are you a learned mage?”

  “A what?”

  She sighed. “Have you studied the texts?”

  “No.”

  “Indeed, for you are too young. They’re the most common, but they are not mages — not truly. So, you are a pact mage, then.”

  “I have made no pacts with no one.”

  Leaning back, her eyebrows arched. “It’s in your blood?”

  He nodded.

  Sia snorted. Her interest chuckled Byard, who sat in silence and watched the exchange.

  “Are you a mage?” Rowan asked.

  “No, though I’ve known several. Bastards they were. Would’ve left me to die on the Bane, so that makes you different than most.”

  “What are you then, I mean, what do you do?”

  “Nothing. I am Sia, no one, estranged from Thim Dorul, and perhaps returning, though I have not decided in full. Or, perchance I may stay in Berea, or peradventure somewhere else.”

  “No one, she says,” Byard remarked. “I have heard that before. Nobody is nobody, right Just Rowan?”

  “Nobody indeed.”

  Kassina ignored the exchange, intent to guide the ship and feel the wind tousle her hair as it peeked out of her hat pulled low. Up ahead, a town appeared. “There she is.”

  It was nothing like Falasport. Quaint and inviting, it hugged a shallow cove. Stone walls and flat roofs abounded. Timber was scarce but present, visible only at the docks and as roof beams jutting through the walls of a few of the larger homes. Rowan could not recall the last time he’d seen a forest with any size.

  The Junco limped into the cove, overloaded by the hoard. Byard pulled the tarp off the captain and covered the chests. Stretching, Sutton sat up and stared at Berea, blinking his haggard eyes. “Not many options,” he remarked after a yawn.

  “What do you mean?” Kassina asked.

  “Ships. Let’s see… there’s a couple cogs and holks that’re too small, and a… over there, take us over there.” He pointed to a caravel, smaller than most – far smaller than Bane. She had two masts, and was long and sleek with a shallow draft, dark wood, and cream sails.

  “What are you going to do?” Byard asked, “Just walk up and buy that ship?”

  “Why not?” Howland replied, “We have enough gold to buy a fleet.”

  Scraping along the fenders, the northman looped a rope around a timber pile and fastened it to their bow, while Kassina did the same with the stern. The Junco sat low in the water, far lower than even the cogs. Climbing a nearby ladder, they stood atop the weathered planks of a narrow dock. “I will stay with our cargo,” Byard said, “Go, pay too much for some kindling.”

  “With Falas in mind,” Sutton said, cutting Rowan an eye, “those that leave ship should all stay together. I’ve never been here before.”

  “Sia, are you with us?” Rowan asked.

  “I would like to see Howland unhand this captain of his ship,” she said with a snort. “After that?” she shrugged.

  Stinking of sweat and lacking a wash, in tattered clothes and with faces asoot, the thief reasoned they must have been a sight. Fortunately, the docks were mostly empty. A few merchants and fishermen milled about, and of course the gulls lurked overhead, still squarking their protests.

  A man leaned against a stack of crates, picking his fingernails with the tip of his dagger. A long coat hung past his knees and a brimmed hat was pulled low on his head. Disinterest marred his face. Rowan chuckled to himself.

  Do they all shop at the same merchant?

  Sia pulled her hood down over her head and eyed the ground.

  “I’ll do the talking,” the former captain of the Cormorant said, stepping forward. Clearing his throat, he extended his hand and announced with a smile, “Sutton Howland.”

  Without looking up, the man replied, “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. We’re looking for a ship.”

  “How soon?”

  “This very day.”

  “That’s a bitch.”

  “Oh?” Sutton asked, “Why’s that?”

  “Crew mutinied on the way here, disbanded on arrival. It’ll take me at least another week to muster a new one. Seems you’re out of luck.”

  “I don’t think you understand. We don’t want you, we want your ship.”

  The man laughed. “You can’t be—you’re serious?

  Howland nodded.

  The man sized them up. A sneer snaked across his face. “Hundred and fifty pounds.”

  “What!? She’s not worth half that!”

  “That’s the price, if you don’t like it, the devils of the deep take you.”

  “You son of-“

  The man sprang forward, dagger in hand. “Finish that and I’ll gut you right here,” he snarled. Scanning the group, his eyes stopped on Sia.

  “Come on,” Kassina said, “let’s go. We’ll find another one.”

  After several moments, the man said, “Wait.”

  Sutton turned.

  “You can keep walking. I mean her,” he said, motioning at Sia. “Do I know you?”

  “Doubtful,” she replied, looking away.

  The man approached, cautiously, never dropping his gaze.

  “We should go,” she said, but no one moved.

  Craning his head, he furrowed his brow and leaned in, looking at her face turned down. After several long moments, his mouth dropped open. Stepping back, he knelt. “My lady, forgive
me.”

  “Your what?” Sutton squawked, much like the gulls.

  Sia sighed. Unhooding herself, she stepped forward and stood him up.

  “Take my ship, it is yours.”

  “No.”

  “I insist.”

  “Name your price,” she replied, “a fair one.”

  Biting at his lip, his eyes turned up, thinking, considering the worth. “Seventy-five pounds is reasonable… No, seventy. Seventy pounds.”

  She looked to Howland. He nodded in agreeance. “Seventy it is,” she replied. “We’ll return shortly.”

  She turned to leave, but he grabbed her hand. Sia recoiled. “Lady D’Eldar, please, forgive my offense. It’s just… Mysthas needs you. With this ship, do you mean to return?”

  She started to speak, but changed her mind. Instead, she turned away and said, “Let’s go.” Her face was solemn, even more so than usual.

  “What in the nine hells just happened back there? D’Eldar from Mysthas, I thought you were from Thim Dorul?” Sutton whispered as they walked away.

  “I’ve decided I can’t remain,” she replied, ignoring his questions. “But if I could trouble you for but a few coins, just enough for clothes and provisions, I would forever be in your debt.”

  “Sia-“

  “No. My mind is made up.”

  “Then,” the captain replied, “take whatever you need from my share. We have plenty enough, more than we’ll ever need.”

  “Thank you, Howland. And Rowan,” she said, turning to him, “I can never repay you for what you’ve done. I hope you find whatever it is you seek, blood mage.”

  She continued with them to the Junco, walking in silence. Byard handed her a few coins from a chest, and then, she left.

  * * * * *

  Rowan leaned against the ship rail and surveyed Berea’s evening lights. Pale and orange, the lanterns cast their glow on the stones, filling the place with a sense of warmth. Overhead, a cloudy, starless sky darkened the docks.

  “Doesn’t seem like a bad place to end up, some day, does it?”