Sorcery of a Queen

by Brian Naslund

  “I know.”

  Bershad scanned the fortress that was built on the far side of the bay. It wasn’t like any stone-and-mortar tower or holdfast that Bershad had seen in Almira or Ghalamar or even Balaria. The structure was comprised of stacked, dull-gray slabs of iron that got progressively smaller with each level, forming a series of fortified tiers. There was no decoration or design. Just hard angles and cold metal.

  “Just need one favor.” He pointed to the tip of a jagged peninsula that provided good cover. “Mind dropping me in a shallop right there?”

  “So you mean to go through with it?” Kerrigan asked.

  “I do.”

  “Your legs are still mostly bruises.”

  “They’re getting better,” Bershad said. Kerrigan had found some Crimson Tower moss in her stores, and Bershad had mushed it into a paste and rubbed it on his legs. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing.

  “Go through with what?” Goll asked Bershad.

  “I’m not leaving Ashlyn and Felgor behind.”

  “I see.” His face turned serious. “I will accompany you.”

  “No you won’t,” Bershad said.

  “You cannot talk me out of this decision.”

  “It’s going to involve swimming across that harbor in the middle of the night.”

  Goll’s mouth opened. Closed. “But the blood debt.”

  “That’ll just have to wait for another time,” Bershad said.

  Goll sighed. “At least let me wait with you on the boat. It won’t be dark for hours.”

  “Fine.”

  “If you’re going to sit with him on that shallop, so am I,” Kerrigan said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I just spent a small fortune buying you back from Simeon. No way am I going to let you drown yourself trying to follow your new friend. And don’t pretend like you weren’t going to try it. You idiot Lysterians would jump down a Red Skull’s throat to fulfill a blood debt.”

  Goll shrugged, all innocence. “Does anyone on this ship have a jug of decent rum they’re willing to part with?”

  * * *

  An hour later, Bershad, Kerrigan, and Goll were alone in the shallop. Goll passed the time by drinking his borrowed rum and telling stories about Lysteria. He pissed off the side of the boat every hour or so. When nightfall was about twenty minutes away, Bershad started to get ready.

  Along with the rum—which was mostly depleted—Goll had scrounged up a big vat of tar that the corsairs used for night incursions. Bershad started rubbing it on his face and arms and back, careful to avoid the crossbow bolts.

  “It won’t wash off in the water?” Bershad asked as he covered his tattooed arm.

  “Wouldn’t be much good to us if it did,” Kerrigan replied.

  Bershad continued coating his body. The stuff was sticky and thick. Getting himself fully covered was going to take a while.

  “Got a question for you, Kerrigan,” Bershad said to her.

  “Yeah?”

  “How did you kill that Naga Soul Strider?”

  Kerrigan looked up at him. “You’re about to try and fight your way through scores of the most well-armed, most dangerous pirates in Terra, and that’s what you want to know?”

  He shrugged. “I always figured that if I drew a writ for a Naga, that would be the end of me. Curious how you came up on the winning side.”

  She glanced at Goll. Raised an eyebrow.

  “I am also curious. Cormo was convinced that you played it a song with some Dunfarian flute that made it go to sleep underwater and drown itself. But that doesn’t make sense. You don’t play the flute.”

  Kerrigan sighed. Turned back to the water, then responded softly. “I poisoned my donkey.”

  Bershad frowned, confused. “What?”

  “Before I was arrested, one of the ships that I brought to Argel was carrying ten barrels of bilo-barb poison. It’s derived from the venom glands of a rare dragon called a Dusk Greezel that only lives on the smallest of the Southern Islands. You can trade a small jug of it for two good horses.”

  “Sounds rare.”

  “Not as valuable as Gods Moss, maybe. But it’s in the same general region of profit potential, and a little easier to procure. All the same, smuggling a whole barrel of it onto the ship that took me to Ghost Moth Island nearly bankrupted my crew. But they did it anyway. One last favor for their doomed captain. Funny how nobody notices one extra barrel on a big ship.”

  Kerrigan licked her lips.

  “We found the Naga hunting just east of this island—picking seals off a cluster of rocks. The soldiers didn’t know why I asked for my donkey and the barrel to be put into my sloop when they sent me digging out into the ocean after the great beast. They didn’t much care, either. I was a dead woman.” She lowered her voice. “It wasn’t an easy thing, making the poor beast drink the poison. They’re stubborn creatures. But once I got some in his belly, he died quick.”

  Bershad swallowed hard. Tried not to think about Alfonso. Failed. He scratched at the corner of his eye, then motioned for Kerrigan to keep going.

  “Once the donkey was dead, I poured the rest of the poison down his throat. Then it was just a matter of dropping the carcass into the right current so that he floated right into the Naga’s hunting ground. The lizard ate him in a single bite. Maybe a minute later it crashed into the ocean.” She tapped the dragon on her forearm. “One of the sailors put this on me that same day.”

  “How’d you avoid being sent after another?”

  “The soldiers lashed the Naga’s carcass to their hull. Since there was no lord on the boat, all the oil was theirs for the taking. They celebrated their good fortune by getting drooling drunk on rice wine in the hold below.” Kerrigan smiled, remembering. “Then one of them got cold and decided to use some fresh dragon fat to warm up.”

  It took Bershad a moment to understand. “The poison.”

  “Yeah. The Naga was so pumped full of bilo-barb that her fat turned the lower deck into a bladder of noxious fumes. Killed everyone in a fit of bloody shit and vomit. The only survivors were me and Simeon and the five shivering soldiers who’d been guarding us above deck. Simeon took care of them. With all the confusion, it wasn’t much of a fight.

  “When the sun rose the next day, we had a ship of our own and an entire island to ourselves that everyone else in Terra was afraid to visit. Deciding our future didn’t take long. I sold the blighted dragon oil in Himeja and used the profits to hire our first crew. Started snatching exiles from the clutches of Terra. And when the alchemist showed up and made his offer … well … Simeon took the dirty path so I could walk the clean one. We’ve had our disagreements over the years, but the only reason I’m alive and that Naga Rock exists is because of Simeon.”

  Kerrigan looked away. The sky darkened. All three of them went quiet.

  As soon as the ragged outline of the fortress started getting hazy, a series of dragon-oil lights turned on, casting a swath of illumination across the harbor.

  “He doesn’t usually run the lanterns,” Kerrigan said. “Guess my little parley spooked him. No way we can row you much closer than this. Sorry.”

  Bershad scanned the water. Figured it was about two leagues to the base of the cliff, where he could climb up to the backside of the Proving Ground.

  “This is close enough.”

  Kerrigan pulled out a Papyrian lens and studied the fortress, moving from one spot to the next in a careful order.

  “Nineteen sentries, looks like.”

  “Twenty-four,” Bershad corrected. The Nomad had expanded her gyre to give him a good feel for the men running their loose patrols along the metal tiers. He stripped off the rags that he’d been wearing since he woke up in Naga Rock. His connection to the dragon was stronger when his flesh was exposed. He covered his legs and feet with the tar.

  “Your skin might be covered, but those hair decorations are gonna sparkle like pearls in the lights. You as sentimental about those thin
gs as every other Almiran I’ve met?”

  “Give me your knife.”

  Bershad took his own hair in a tight ball and sliced it off with three quick strokes. Left the mess of tangles and rings and amulets in the bottom of the boat.

  “I can save ’em for you if you want,” Goll offered.

  “Don’t bother. I don’t need them anymore.”

  Bershad used a length of fishing line to tie the knife to his thigh. No point in taking more weapons. This outnumbered, and without any Gods Moss, he was a dead man if he needed more than a knife.

  “Simeon has a few skiffs by the dock with decent sails,” Kerrigan said. “Once you have your friends, you need to get to one of those skiffs and get clear before daybreak. I’ll hang back with one frigate till midday, waiting for you. If you actually manage to pull this off, I wanna make sure the queen of Almira attaches my face to the credit.”

  “Got it.”

  Bershad stepped onto the gunwale, which sent a shock of pain up both legs. He stumbled backward with a grunt and a curse.

  Goll watched him with concerned eyes. “You sure you can do this, Flawless?”

  “No,” Bershad said.

  Then he dove into the freezing ocean and started swimming toward the coast.

  47

  ASHLYN

  Ghost Moth Island, Beneath the Proving Ground

  Ashlyn landed on something mushy and wet. Rolled off it and banged her knee against a rock. The hatch above snapped closed, leaving her in darkness.

  No. Not darkness. Not completely. She noticed a blue-green light emanating from the ground and walls. She crawled toward the closest source of light, careful on her injured knee, and examined it. A bioluminescent mushroom the size of a coffeepot. She recognized it as one of the species that had grown in Kasamir’s garden.

  This wasn’t her first time in a cave with poor lighting. She sat up. Crossed her legs. And stayed still for about ten minutes, waiting for her eyes to adapt. Tried to use her other senses to get some semblance of orientation. The air was thicker here. Humid and warm, like one of her greenhouses back in Floodhaven. There were rustles and flickers of squirming movement in the shadowy pits and corners. Crabs and cave toads, probably.

  A larger shape seemed to materialize in the gloom about twenty strides in front of her. Ashlyn squinted at it, trying to decide if it was a big rock, or something else. When her eyes finally adjusted enough for her to identify it, her pulse went wild.

  It was a Naga Soul Strider. Scaled hide arching high. Tail wrapped around its body.

  For a moment, Ashlyn thought that Simeon had dropped her into a quick and brutal death. But the dragon didn’t stir. It took Ashlyn a few heart-pounding seconds of stillness to realize it wasn’t breathing. Dead. And perfectly preserved, same as the Ghost Moths.

  She got up. Walked around the head. It was a juvenile male. There was a ballista bolt lodged in its forehead, and its tail barb had been surgically removed. Ashlyn realized this was where the spear that Howell carried must have come from. Dozens of rubber tubes were connected to his body. They ran farther into the darkness of the cave, out of sight.

  Ashlyn followed them.

  She could see much better now. Machinery dominated the cavern floor, but the walls were overgrown with tangled vines and sprawling plants. They weren’t healthy—all wilted leaves and drooping petals. But they shouldn’t have been able to grow down here at all. Not without light, and only tiny pools of brackish water as sustenance.

  As before, the tubes from the dragon converged on a single spot. But this was different from Kasamir’s garden. In place of a metal table, she found what looked like a misshapen alabaster tree. Trunk bent. Dozens of thin branches sprouting off it, each blooming with vibrant blue and red leaves that fluttered in the damp cave air. Pale salamanders crawled amid the foliage.

  Ashlyn circled the tree, trying to think of what species it could be. But when she got to the far side, she stopped in her tracks.

  This wasn’t a tree. It was a woman.

  Ashlyn could make out the familiar outline of hips and breasts and collarbones. And a face with Papyrian features. Small nose. Black hair. And dark, oval eyes that were looking back at her, full of life and recognition.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” the woman said in Papyrian.

  Ashlyn jerked back a step.

  “Apologies,” the woman continued. “I know how alarming I am.”

  Ashlyn forced herself to stay calm. Examine the woman. Get details. Whatever had occurred here, this wasn’t the overrun fungal infection that had afflicted the others that she’d seen on the island. The woman’s body had been altered in incredible ways. Her skin was pale and smooth like petrified wood. Covered in blooming blue flowers. Winding threads of roots and moss ran along the curves and crooks of her torso. The branches—if you could call them that—grew off her back and shoulders, but there was something elegant about them. Natural, despite how strange it looked. Nothing like the lumps and deformities that plagued Kasamir’s giant. Still, unnatural things had been done to her. A large part of her torso had been surgically removed and replaced with a gray metal alloy. Her left arm was missing. A tangle of moss-choked vines hung from the stump like blood vessels.

  “Who are you?” Ashlyn asked.

  “Gaya,” she said. “Although I am not sure there is enough humanity left in me to use that name anymore. He always called me Specimen 88.”

  “He,” Ashlyn repeated. “Osyrus Ward?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you been down here?”

  “I am not sure how long I was imprisoned by him. But it has been thirty-one years, one hundred and three days, and eleven hours since he left.” She smiled. “I count my heartbeats to pass the time. There is not much else to do.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Apologies are a waste of breath,” Gaya said. “Who are you?”

  “Ashlyn.”

  “Not a Papyrian name, even though you have a Papyrian face.”

  “My mother was Papyrian, but I have an Almiran father.”

  “Ah.” She swallowed. “Tell me … how did such a curious half-breed get herself thrown into this pit?”

  “Okinu sent me here to find out what happened on this island.”

  “So many of us dispatched into Osyrus Ward’s nightmare because of the Eternal Empress’s orders.” She paused. “After all this time … I assumed she had given up. She told me that I was her last hope. And I failed her.”

  Ashlyn absorbed that. “You’re the widow.”

  The woman nodded. “I was the best. But on this island—in his domain—I was no match for him. Nobody was. We were all just flies that got caught in his merciless, metal web.”

  “I’ve read some of his notes, up above. He said that you were the key to everything. Do you know what he meant by that?”

  “He took great interest in my body, and the transformation. The bloom, he called it. But he never said why. Only that I was … an anomaly. A Seed. I suppose the name fits. Everything that is alive in this room grew from my body.”

  Gaya’s legs were rooted to the ground. The foliage around her radiated outward in an explosion of moss with blue flowers in it. Ashlyn hadn’t connected everything until that moment. Hadn’t realized what this was. Blame the darkness. The dragon. Or the fact that this place wasn’t as fecund or lush as she was used to, but the pattern of the ecology was unmistakable, along with the Gods Moss that grew from Gaya’s body.

  “This is a dragon warren.”

  “Yes. A stunted one, but still a warren.”

  “Osyrus did all of this to you? Forced your body to change?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Tell me then, exactly. Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

  “After all this time, what does it matter?”

  “Osyrus Ward is still alive. And his nightmare has spread across Terra. I came to this island to find a way to stop him.”

  Gaya hesitated. “You’re not a
widow. And you’re not a soldier. What makes you think you can succeed where all of us failed?”

  “You failed because you tried to fight him your way. On your terms.” Ashlyn touched her arm. “I can fight his way. But there are pieces that I’m missing. Pieces that he left behind. Please. Tell me what happened. The more I understand him, the bigger the threat I can become.”

  Gaya blinked.

  “I came with eleven soldiers. Veterans, all of them. We landed on the island and found the landscape defiled. The rivers ran red with rust and bloated rodents. Whole sections of the forest were blasted and blackened. And there was … evidence that the previous incursions had failed.”

  “What evidence?”

  “Corpses. Some of them had gone to rot where they’d fallen. Shot by bolts, mostly. But others were bulging with a strange fungus. Wandering around like … demons. Their muscles and hands were torn ragged from some kind of labor. We didn’t know what he made them build until we found the fortress.”

  “The Proving Ground.”

  Gaya nodded. “I went in alone. Snuck through his workshop of horrors. All those caged abominations, clawing and scratching and screeching to be free. Or to be killed.” She paused. “I’ve sent sixty-seven souls down the river. Infiltrated cities and villas and castles. Come and gone like a bad rumor. But this place … everything in this place is connected. Reactive to intruders. I hadn’t stepped on a pressure plate in twenty years. But I never saw it coming. Perfectly disguised. The dart hit me in the jugular with surgical precision. I blacked out, and woke up in a cage. That’s when the real horrors began. First there were needles. Yellow fluid he injected into me. And then…”

  She stopped talking. Ashlyn remembered the bloodstains on the floor of the cage above.

  “He started putting things inside of you,” Ashlyn said.

  “They were small, at first. Little orbs, just beneath my skin. But when the wounds didn’t fester, he put them deeper. Then he started doing other things. Siphoning blood. Cutting me. Shallow. Then deep. Down to the bone. And he knew … he knew what the moss did to me.”

  Ashlyn’s breath caught in her throat.