Sorcery of a Queen

by Brian Naslund

  I will give you more information when I have it. Make sure the supply deliveries are on time and leave me to my work. I require a decade. Maybe two.

  “Crotchety man,” Okinu muttered to herself as Ashlyn read.

  “What is this Specimen 01?” Ashlyn asked.

  “Those notes are the closest you’ll get to answers. Keep reading.”

  Ashlyn moved to the next report. The last.

  29 Lomas—221

  To the Eternal Empress Okinu,

  I have perfected the bone preservation process. The details would require thousands of pages of explanation, so I will skip them. There is nothing stopping me from constructing your dragon-bone fleet. The raw materials are already refined. I have also designed a prototype set of armor, but I am unhappy with the limitations and long-term side effects of use.

  However, after my time on the island, I have realized that we are aiming far too low with our objective. The refinement process of the Ghost Moths has uncovered far more compelling possibilities.

  I have been so focused on preserving animals that are prone to rot that I have ignored my ability to create something new which never decays.

  You sent me to this island to build ships and armor, so that you might defend yourself against the chaos and rage of this world. But I can do better. I can end the chaos. Replace it with order. I can forge perfection.

  The path will be long. Messy. But this island has opened the door to a world in which weapons and armor are no longer necessary because the animal-grasp for resources and power that afflicts Terra like a plague will be over.

  My creations will replace the undignified meat sacks with which we are held prisoner. And you will be their goddess. A truly eternal ruler of Terra. Aeternita will shudder with jealousy to behold you.

  I have already begun the process, but to proceed with human trials, I require two hundred souls sent to me on the next supply ship. They should be healthy, strong laborers. No dungeon scraps. No diseases. But they should also be people who will not be missed. The trials will claim many lives.

  In return, all that I ask for is a place by your side, ruling the perfect world I shall forge for you.

  —Osyrus Ward

  Ashlyn put the paper down. Gave Okinu a look.

  “When I read that fifty years ago, I assumed that the decade of isolation had bent Ward’s mind to madness. An easy conclusion, seeing as the man was always a little unhinged to begin with. When I first met him, he walked around with a glass jar on his hip filled with flesh-eating beetles devouring a fox’s head. And this talk of meat sacks and goddesses … it’s insane.”

  “Insane or not, the details of what he was proposing are not clear.” That information about preserved spinal tissue was compelling—perhaps this island was the place where she could forge another thread. The rest of it was concerning. “Ward sent no other information?”

  “None.”

  “Did you send him the people he requested?”

  Okinu licked her lips. “No. I sent soldiers to bring back the dragon bones that I requested in the first place.”

  “What happened?”

  “That is what you are going to figure out.”

  Ashlyn frowned. “You don’t know?”

  “My soldiers never returned. I sent more, of course. Again, nothing. Eventually I sent a widow who was so lethal she makes Shoshone Kalara Sun look like a declawed house cat. She never returned. Papyria is a wealthy country, but there is a limit to the number of frigates and highly trained warriors that I will dispatch into the Big Empty to no effect. Time passed. My sister married your father. The Great War started, and the powerful fleet I did possess was required to end it. I moved on, assuming that Osyrus Ward had perished, along with a vast sum of my resources. I abandoned my ambitions of commanding a dragon-bone fleet. But it appears my dreams were—as he said—aiming too low.”

  She paused.

  “I need you to travel to Ghost Moth Island and uncover what Osyrus Ward did there. Bring me back a way to stop him and the Balarians.”

  Ashlyn kept her face blank. Waiting to see if Okinu would reveal more information.

  “Of course, you are under no obligation,” Okinu said after a long silence. “You’ve had a long journey, and this would require that you embark on another one immediately. Any sane person would—”

  “I’ll go.”

  Okinu smiled. “Such conviction. Why?”

  “Because I started something in Almira, but I didn’t finish it. And the answers I need are on that island.”

  “Good. I was confident you’d do the right thing.”

  Ashlyn narrowed her eyes. “You speak as if this is entirely my mess to clean up, but you created this problem when you financed Osyrus Ward fifty years ago.”

  “Let’s skip the part where we blame each other for causing this goatfuck. Osyrus wouldn’t be nearly as big of a problem if you hadn’t assassinated Mercer Domitian.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Mercer kept that insane greaseball busy with the production of clocks and copper curiosities, and ultimately he held Ward’s leash and maintained at least a modicum of respect for other nations. Now that he’s dead, there is no way to predict what Ward will do next, but mark my words, before the spring thaw he will outsmart Actus Thorn and use that fleet to destroy Papyria, and any other nation that is in his way.”

  “On what are you basing such certainty?”

  Okinu paused. “Before he disappeared, Osyrus sent one, final message to me. I’ve kept it close for all these years as a reminder.”

  She pulled a piece of paper from an inner pocket of her robe. Held it out for Ashlyn to take and read.

  To the eternal Papyrian dog,

  You will never see me again. But when your horizon is filled with calamity, know that it was me who filled it. Me who killed you and turned your country to chemical burns and ash.

  You corrupt rulers. This corrupt world. I will take it from you all. Then I will fix it. Make it clean. Make it perfect.

  —Osyrus Ward

  Ashlyn gave the paper back. The ravings of a madman were one thing. But a madman with access to an armada of skyships needed to be stopped.

  “If I’m going to do this, I need to know everything that you know about this island. Starting with the exact location.”

  Okinu smiled again. “Chiya. Map.”

  10

  BERSHAD

  Papyria, Port City of Nulsine

  “This isn’t bad, so far as dungeons go,” Felgor said, looking around their cell. “Nice little window there—probably gets sunlight for twenty or thirty minutes a day. Only seen three rats so far.”

  “Five,” Bershad corrected.

  “Still pretty good. And they even laid out hay for us to sleep on!” Felgor flopped down on the wet and moldy bedding. Inhaled as if he was smelling lavender perfume instead of putrid dungeon rot. “Not too bad at all.”

  Felgor produced a nail from between his toes and begun rubbing it against a stone on the floor.

  “What’s that?”

  “Lockpick.”

  “Good,” Bershad said. Being confined to such a tight, dark space made him itchy and anxious.

  “I think I swallowed my tooth,” Felgor complained, tonguing the gap in his mouth. “Might be it flew into the water, but I don’t think so.”

  “Your teeth are small. Shouldn’t hurt too much crapping it out.”

  “Hey, I can’t regrow pieces of my body like you. A lost tooth is a big deal.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They were both quiet for a few minutes.

  “You know,” Felgor said. “Since we’ve met, I’ve spent a lot more time in chains than I’d prefer.”

  “You were in chains when I met you.”

  Felgor squinted. “Was I?”

  “The boat to Argel. Vera had plucked you from the Floodhaven dungeon.”

  “Oh right. I got caught robbing that highborn brothel during their weird orgy. Good times, my frien
d.”

  “How many brothels have you robbed in your life?”

  Felgor weighed that. “Ninety-four. So being caught a handful of times isn’t bad, in terms of a percentage. Raw numbers are unfair when you deal in the volumes of Felgor.” He scratched his chin. “Although your dragon-killing volumes are similar, now that I think about it. Hm. Well, we can’t all be flawless like you, can we?”

  Bershad shifted around a little. He didn’t like thinking about his reputation, and all the black deeds behind it. “How’d you get the name Brothel Burner?” he asked.

  “That? Oh, that was a total misunderstanding that got blown way out of proportion. You see, I was up in the attic with a particularly lovely maiden, and she was using a big candle to drip wax on my—”

  “Never mind,” Bershad said. “How’s that coming?”

  Felgor looked down at his work.

  “Got some bad news for you there.”

  “Which is?” Bershad shifted a little so he could glare directly at Felgor.

  Felgor motioned to the cell door, which was made from black iron bars. “I can make a pick for pretty much any lock that ain’t a Balarian seal, and even those have some weak spots I’m curious to explore. But I can’t reach that lock from in here. See those long struts running out of sight to the left?” He pointed with his half-carved pick. “The keys are inserted into a lock on the far end o’ them. Impossible to open from the inside. Papyrians know how to build a dungeon, I’ll give them that.”

  “Felgor,” Bershad growled. “If you couldn’t reach the lock, why carve a pick?”

  Felgor shrugged. “Something to do. And it improved your mood considerably. From the look on your face, I see that lovely period of time is now ending.”

  “There has to be a way out.”

  “There is,” Felgor said, going back to his carving. “Wait for a jailer to open the door and let us go.”

  “That’s not a plan. That’s just waiting around.”

  “We have a queen on our side. Sometimes waiting around is all you can do. Don’t tell me I’ve got more faith in your lover than you do?”

  Bershad gave him a look.

  “What?” Felgor asked. “We all know the details of your gross little love saga over the years. And we know what you two were doing in that private cabin each night while we sailed north. It was a small ship, and you weren’t very quiet.”

  Bershad didn’t say anything.

  “Anyways, the two of you make a good couple,” Felgor continued. “The Lizard Killer and the Witch Queen. Play practically writes itself.”

  “I got enough fucking plays about me already.”

  “And there isn’t a single one about me yet, just inaccurate nicknames,” Felgor muttered. “A brutal injustice.”

  They were quiet for a while. Bershad picked at the scab on his palms. Felgor continued to carve the useless lockpick.

  A while later, the sound of an iron door opening farther down the hall echoed through their chamber. Bershad straightened up. Felgor disappeared the lockpick between his toes. Gave Bershad a confident nod and a smile.

  Captain Po came to their cell. He had a grim look on his face, and was followed by ten more soldiers.

  “Think you brought enough assholes with you?” Bershad asked.

  Po ignored the comment. “By the orders of Her Eternal Majesty, you and the Brothel Burner are to be released into the care of Queen Ashlyn Malgrave at once.” He delivered the news in a flat, monotone voice. “She is waiting for you in town.”

  Felgor sprang up and cracked his knuckles. Smiled at Bershad.

  “Told you.”

  * * *

  Po marched Bershad and Felgor to a small hut on the edge of town. The place smelled of cheap wheat and good peat moss—earthy and thick. Ashlyn was sitting at a half-broken table, sipping from a ceramic cup while sifting through a pile of maps and papers.

  She looked up when they came in.

  “The empress and I have come to an arrangement,” she said. “You’re both free to go.”

  “She ordered them free from the dungeon,” Po said, grabbing Felgor by the back of his neck. “But this slippery bastard’s not spending another second in Papyria. I’m sailing you past the jetty and dumping you in the sea.”

  “You will do no such thing, Captain Po,” Ashlyn said, putting her cup down. Po frowned at her, but didn’t move.

  “You will take Felgor to the closest dining hall in this town and give him as much food and ale as he can fit inside his body. Then you’ll take him to the most expensive brothel, where he will be treated as an honored guest. Any expenses he accrues between now and midnight will be taken from your salary, Captain Po.”

  Po’s face turned red with rage.

  “But that could be my entire fucking—”

  “I told you not to harm them, Captain Po. You disobeyed me. A month or two’s salary is a small price to pay for loosening the teeth of a queen’s friend.” Ashlyn turned to Felgor. “Thank you for what you’ve done for me and Silas. I trust you’ll enjoy yourself.”

  Felgor beamed at that news, his remaining teeth on happy display.

  “Felgor,” Bershad said, grabbing the thief by the shoulder. “Have your fun, but do not steal anything, clear?”

  “Nothing? Or nothing people’ll miss?”

  “Felgor.”

  “Fine, fine.” He put his hands up in mock surrender. “To the Squatting Loon we go!”

  “I’m not taking you to the Loon,” Po said. “Their companions cost three silvers an hour.”

  “And they’re worth every shaving.”

  Felgor put his arm around Po and started walking out of the room as if they were old friends.

  “And how many hours are left in the day?” Felgor continued as they walked. “Eight? Nine? Don’t worry, I’m not one of those one-and-done-type men. I generally got three or four good ones in me each day, and I’ve been a bit clogged up from the voyage, if you know what I mean. The widows on the ship were not flirtatious.”

  “I’m going to kill you, thief.”

  “Sounds good,” Felgor said happily. Bershad noticed that Felgor lifted something from the captain’s belt just as they were moving out of sight.

  “Thanks for that,” Bershad said to her.

  “I did it for you, too.”

  “An open tab at a brothel?”

  “A chance to say good-bye.” Ashlyn motioned to the maps. “You and I have a very long and dangerous journey ahead of us.”

  Bershad frowned. “Where is Hayden?”

  “I sent her back to Himeja with the empress.” She paused. “You and I need to do this alone.”

  Bershad sat down across from Ashlyn. “Tell me.”

  * * *

  When Ashlyn was done explaining everything, Bershad reached for the pitcher and refilled Ashlyn’s cup, then poured one for himself. It was warm tea that smelled of jade and cinnamon. Bershad took a sip. Wished that is was rice wine.

  “The empress will get us a ship?”

  “We leave tomorrow.”

  Bershad sipped the tea.

  “Surprised that you managed to convince Hayden to leave.”

  “She wasn’t happy, but widows are obligated to follow direct orders from their empress. And Okinu understood. I won’t let Hayden die for me. Not when she’s finally home and safe. I won’t do it.” She looked at him. “I’ve said my good-byes. Go say yours.”

  Bershad bowed his head. He could tell that Ashlyn wanted to be alone.

  He headed for the door.

  “Silas?” Ashlyn called, stopping him. “If you get into the whores while you’re out there, I’ll smell it on you when you return. And you’ll pay for it.”

  That smallest of smiles spread across her lips.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Queen. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  * * *

  Bershad found Felgor in the common room of the Squatting Loon. There were three low fires and several long tables. He counted five other patrons and f
ourteen companions—seven men and seven women. All of them were wearing thin black skirts and nothing else. They were all beautiful.

  Felgor was naked except for a silk breechcloth. He was drinking from a half-gallon jug of rice wine.

  “Silas!” he called when he saw Bershad walk in. “Silas, you old bastard! Come drink with me.”

  Bershad took a seat and then a long gulp from the jug. It was chilled and smooth.

  “This place is pretty nice for some harbor city brothel,” Bershad said, looking around.

  “Now you’re revealing your ignorance, Silas. Harbor cities always have premium brothels. First stop for freshly paid sailors who’ve just spent the last few moons staring at the same grubby faces all day. Man’ll part a hefty portion of his new coin for an unfamiliar and beautiful bed companion.”

  “So will a woman,” one of the male companions murmured with a smile.

  Bershad scanned the room a moment longer.

  “Where’s our friend, Captain Po?”

  “Gone.” Felgor smiled. “That asshole was on the verge of tears when I rounded the corner on my second jug of wine. Probably because these things cost half a silver each. But we have an open line of credit all night.”

  Bershad looked at the jug.

  “Best order two more, then.”

  “Agreed.”

  Felgor whistled to the barkeep—a woman with swirling black tattoos running down both of her sinewy arms—to bring them more.

  “So, already had your fill with the women?” Bershad asked.

  “Please. This is just the first of many intermissions. Isn’t that right, Kiko?” Felgor asked, raising his glass to a nearby companion with bolts through both nipples and her nose.

  “You gonna talk the entire time again, Balarian?” Kiko responded.

  “Probably,” Felgor said. “My cock wears out long before my capacity for conversation.”

  Kiko shook her head, but she was smiling.

  “How’d it go back there?” Felgor asked.

  “I didn’t get my head cut off and Ashlyn wasn’t burned alive for being a witch. So, not bad, I guess.”

  “Not bad, he says. Fuck, man, lighten up, will you? Think of all the shit we survived. The Razorbacks. That nightmare in Taggarstan. And it wasn’t that long ago you were bolted to a table in a dungeon getting your limbs cut off by that crazy old man. Things can’t get much worse than that.”