Cold Blooded

by Jackson Lear

  “Unfortunately, the nobles in question saw you as a threat. They harassed you for bearing your father’s name and their anger could not be contained. We all know their berserker temper is legendary, right? During a wild confrontation their treachery was exposed. Most troubling of all was their lack of foresight. They were convinced that Ispar would run with their tail between their legs but we know otherwise. We would retake Galinnia and then crush the invaders. There would be no stopping us. Draegor would see his kingdom destroyed. He couldn’t let that happen. He also couldn’t let a lady of Ispar die while staying as a guest in his own home. With the utmost bravery he got us all out of the castle. The last thing we saw of Draegor was half a dozen nobles stabbing him to death and turning against us. We ran, losing two in the process but doing what we could to get you to safety.”

  Alysia nodded weakly. “So why are we now in Faersrock meeting with Agnarr?”

  “Because with Draegor gone you saw an opportunity to put a pro-Ispar noble on the throne. It was too good of a chance to pass up.”

  “You’re saying that Draegor and Agnarr were allies?”

  “Draegor didn’t have many, but Agnarr was among his most trusted.”

  “Even though Draegor had Agnarr’s son thrown off the top of the castle.”

  “That was the doing of his treacherous nobles – forcing Draegor to toe the line by killing the son of his closest friend.”

  Alysia shook her head. “I doubt that will hold up to senate scrutiny.”

  “It might if Agnarr goes along with it. And if we ever find Elizandria again we can pay her to back you up. Mercenaries are notoriously flexible when it comes to – you know – honor.”

  We were almost upon the town of Faersrock.

  “Regardless of whatever happens up here, you tell your senators that you succeeded beyond expectations. In the meantime I’ll see what I can do to tie up loose ends. Mostly: who betrayed us.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brilskeep wasn’t much of a city. Faersrock wasn’t much of a town. But it was nicer. No grime lining the wooden homes, no fog as thick as an old lady’s matted muff. There was mud, though. Hard mud. Soft mud. Slick mud. Sloshy mud. Black mud. Gray mud. Even some red mud. Our guide was pointing out the local landmarks, giving us something of a verbose lecture on the subject while Torunn kept his translations discreet. “Don’t go that way,” was his favorite.

  “Why not?” asked Alysia.

  “Mud.”

  “Special mud?”

  “It’s pretty much quick sand,” muttered Mikael. “Goopy as hell. You think the shore is over there but it’s wherever it wants to be. One wrong step and you better shout loud enough for someone to come and rescue you.”

  Torunn turned to his cousin. “What’s ‘goopy?’”

  Mikael translated.

  Torunn peered back at him. “This is common word?”

  “Not really.”

  Torunn gave him a look of, ‘then why the hell would I need to know that?’

  Mikael winced as the soldiers carrying him slipped an inch. “Do we have any more blood wine?”

  “You drank the last of it,” I told him.

  Most of the buildings on the outer-edge of town were wooden with a thick layer of grass over the roof. Clusters of buildings were clumped together, then a great absence of structures, then a few houses and more clusters crammed one next to the other. A tavern-looking building used an up-turned longboat as its roof. Elsewhere, a structure of slats and fabric billowed with heat as a couple of haggard men sat bare-assed inside, dripping in sweat before coming out to bask in the ball-tingling northern morning.

  It seemed as though our arrival was not supposed to be public knowledge until we actually arrived. Shouts of alarm rang out. Men of old and young intercepted us with axes, knives, and bows, while the sailors and our guide barked at them like ferocious dogs. “Go back inside you stupid bastards! They’re with us!” That kind of thing.

  More outrage followed us from one woman. “Who the hell are they?”

  “They’re here to see Agnarr, love, not you.”

  “They not northerners. They … are they from Ispar?”

  “What’s it to ya? Stop being so nosy and go back home.”

  Or so I presumed, given the many levels of indignation and back and forth swearing. I did learn a popular word. Korla. Good for shouting at someone as well as muttering under your breath.

  We were followed by at least a hundred people, all ready to be heroes of their people by killing Kasera’s favorite daughter. Loken packed us in a little tighter, keeping Alysia in the middle. Cavalry at the front and back, infantry on the sides, mages and archers in the middle. Full show of force with swords and wounds on display.

  Youngsters ran forth, desperate to be the first to tell Agnarr of our arrival. Our guide called out to several of the locals up ahead. They pointed this way and that. We followed their directions. I kept an eye out for any kind of grand home, a castle in the making or even just something that didn’t scream ‘fisherman’. For the life of me I couldn’t tell where Agnarr bedded down.

  Our guide stopped. Held up one hand in the universal gesture of ‘stay here’. The gaggle of kids had run down to the far end of a wooden jetty, tugging on the clothes of a middle-aged man. He turned, studying us. Bearded. Knitted cap. Simple clothes. Our chances of having pulled off a coup dropped drastically. It’s not to say that the clothes make the man. They don’t. But one look at Alysia and you know she comes from refinement. Loken is an officer from the frontier forts; locking in on all the potential threats and making a note of it. Saskia has problems looking people in the eye. Bren has the problem of lingering stares and following the ladies as they walk by. Mikael talks too much to ever be a trusted advisor.

  Agnarr didn’t acknowledge the kids. They were simply messengers. He just stood there, watching us watch him like he needed a couple of minutes to gather his wits, broken only when he squatted back down to gather his things.

  We waited some more. He gathered some more.

  More waiting. More gathering.

  Holy fuck was he really taking this long?

  Mikael leaned up. “What’s going on?”

  “We caught him in the middle of his chores,” I said.

  The would-be king threw a barbed net over his shoulder, soaking his upper body as bits of seaweed slapped against his clothes, then headed towards us; an almost-even walk were it not for an old limp that he had gotten used to. He eyed us carefully before glancing towards his kin to see if they perceived us as a threat. Considering that he made it all the way to within striking distance of us I assumed that we weren’t deemed as dangerous as some of the locals feared. “My son?”

  Alysia drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Draegor’s people ambushed us and threw your son off the top of the castle.”

  Agnarr lingered on that for a moment, nodding slowly to himself. “You saw it happen?”

  “I heard it and I saw his body afterwards. Mikael confirmed that he was among the nobles present at Brilskeep. It was Johnan.”

  Agnarr glanced over the crowd of spectators before nodding to the building with the up-turned longboat roof. “Come this way.”

  Honestly I was expecting more of a reaction upon hearing of your own son’s death, but I guessed that Agnarr had a reputation of being a heartless bastard that he needed to maintain. He dumped the netting in a large wooden box and took a moment to survey his surviving crew. We shivered against the cold. He did not.

  He looked over each of us, noting our fresh wounds and dead comrade. He spoke to us like we were a party of his own raiders who had come to justify our meager loot. “What happened?”

  “We were ambushed by a vampire who is likely on his way here right now. We were brought before Draegor and held captive. I’m afraid he has taken the gifts that were intended for you. I can have my people bring more, but it will take some time.”

  “That will be a problem,” muttered Agnarr as he turned his
gaze away from the locals.

  “I do have some good news, though. Draegor is dead.”

  Agnarr kept whatever joy or misery he was experiencing to himself. Dead son? No reaction. Dead enemy? No reaction. Imperial guests in his town? No reaction. If it wasn’t for the ever-present calculating look in his eyes I would’ve sworn that he was a simple man from a simple town. It seemed as though Mikael’s assessment of Agnarr was accurate: the would-be king wouldn’t give anything away until he was ready.

  Alysia led the introductions. “This is Lieutenant Loken, and my senior advisors: Zara and Raike.”

  Loken nodded. Zara nodded. I did not.

  “Welcome to Faersrock,” said Agnarr. “I see a dead captain among my crew. If you’ll excuse me …” He walked off to the first mate, leaving us standing around in an unknown town with no idea of what to do.

  Loken said: “His Isparian is better than I expected.”

  “That’s because a lot of the townsfolk are born from kidnapped Isparians,” said Zara.

  Loken waved Mikael’s bearers over and indicated for the full blown retelling of our escape from a very subdued first mate. “Is this normal?”

  “It’s a good sign,” muttered Mikael. His color still hadn’t returned to him. “Please, I really need a doctor.”

  “So ask for one.”

  Mikael shifted to the northern tongue, calling for a doctor. Torunn came over, talked to him for a moment, and went to find someone.

  Agnarr continued talking to the first mate for so long that it started to feel rude. At last he returned, giving Loken a look of respect before settling upon Alysia. “Thank you for rescuing my crew.”

  “It was the least we could do. Some of my people require a doctor. Is there anyone here who can help?”

  Agnarr called out to a peculiar looking woman. Noticeably pregnant, she had the body of a woman in her thirties and the face of a twelve year old. She moved lightly enough to still be young yet spoke in a deep enough voice to be Zara’s age. She was already checking Mikael’s eyes and temperature when she received the instructions to take the injured to her infirmary. With that out of the way, Agnarr waved us to the longboat tavern behind us. “Please. You’ve come a long way.”

  “Thank you,” said Alysia.

  He went in first. Didn’t hold the door open. The inside was long and narrow with thin slivers of animal hide as window openings, keeping the breeze at bay but allowing for a miniscule amount of light to creep through. Tables and benches lined one side. An old, limping man moved away from the window, a couple of fingers missing on one hand. He mumbled in a wheezy voice. Agnarr dismissed him politely. The old man shuffled outside. The two other patrons lingered by the windows, peered up from the fermented broth in their mugs, blood shot eyes and heads wobbling from side to side. Agnarr dismissed them too. They shuffled away and left us in peace. Agnarr guided us to a bench. “You’ve impressed my crew and they are not easily impressed. Are you sure Draegor’s dead?”

  “Yes. Raike and Zara found his body. There seemed to be something of a violent coup at the time of our escape. Several nobles and mercenaries lay dead in the great hall. Draegor was among them.”

  Agnarr glanced to the side. Problem solving already. “Then it may be too late. With all the nobles there someone will claim the throne as their own. Still … if he’s dead then you got what you came for.”

  “We came to help you.”

  “We could’ve used your help last year. Or at the latest during the summer. You’ve come a long way on what has become a fool’s run.”

  “I am sorry that time is not in our favor. Truly, I am. But help is here if you are still looking for it.”

  “Aye,” muttered Agnarr. “How was Draegor looking?”

  “Surprisingly youthful for a sixty year old.”

  “He’s sixty seven. Was sixty seven. From what I hear he still thumped around like an old man with some weight on him, but he did it quicker. He was always a gnarly old cunt even when he was a young man. How many vampires were up there?”

  “We saw one. The Lord of Fellgarden.”

  “Razoz. Mouth like an asshole and long red hair?”

  “That’s him. And we should hurry. He and three riders set off yesterday at dusk towards the Lord of Everstil. They could be raising their forces with the intention on striking here.”

  Agnarr peered off into the distance. “Brilskeep is a hundred miles from here by water. More by land. We have eyes and ears on the road, and traps in place.”

  “They’ll be coming by horse.”

  “It will still take them three or four days to get to us.”

  Loken leaned forward. “Sir, I beg your pardon, but I am familiar with the speed the cavalry can move. A domestic horse might be limited to thirty miles a day but a beast of war in good health and with regular exercise can travel sixty miles.”

  A flash of anger at the impertinence crossed Agnarr’s eyes. “You have experience of cavalry in the northlands, do you?”

  “I have experience in Galinnia, in the mudlands, and often when it snowed.”

  I added, “And if the rumors about the Lord of Everstil are correct then he has been able to drug enough war horses with vampire blood.”

  Alysia asked, “How quickly could you evacuate Faersrock?”

  “Not fast enough,” mumbled Agnarr. “The ships we had yesterday went out to look for you. We didn’t know you had been captured. The rest of the fleet are bringing our allies in to meet you. All we have left are small fishing boats and the like. They’re not suitable for seafaring. There is the longboat you came in on, of course, but that can carry sixty people at most.”

  “What about if you went over land?”

  “And try to outrun a cavalry? No. At least here we’ve built defenses. Of course, most of the people who should be defending us are out looking for you as we speak.”

  “Would Draegor’s people go after you in revenge?”

  “Probably,” muttered Agnarr. “There’s land to the west of us. Islands and the like. We’ve raided them in the past. We might go there if the vampires come. Raiding them is one thing; we can be in and out before they can organize an army to fight us off. But if we arrive uninvited and intend to stay then we will be overrun within a season or two.”

  Alysia leaned over to Loken. “How long would it take to have the vanguard reinforce Faersrock against the cavalry?”

  Agnarr lifted his hand to belay the order. “I can’t have you do that.”

  “It would help,” said Alysia.

  “You are guests but my people have seen a century of hostility at your hands. I can not have your military make their presence in my home.”

  Alysia smiled graciously. “Our side has seen a century of hostility from you and your ancestors as well, but today we are here to try and work together.”

  “Aye. Anglaterra was once ours. I hear your husband commands the largest fort on our former land. And Galinnia was ours as well until your father massacred a lot of my cousins to claim it as his own.” Agnarr sighed with the news yet delivered it with as little statesmanship as possible. “You have a famous name, Miss Kasera. Your family has done more to hurt our people than you will ever know. I value your assistance and I do hope that neither of us have to die at the command of the other, but Isparian troops setting up positions to attack and defend from within the home of a northern noble is going to hurt our cause more than it will help it. The people here fought against your father and lost. Now your father’s best soldiers are here and it’s like we’re being taunted again. You brought more soldiers than I expected and it is making me uneasy.”

  Alysia bowed graciously. “Lieutenant, please pull your people back to a safe position. Out of sight and out of the way.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Loken rose, ready for an interjection. None came. He left us in peace.

  “How can we help you?” asked Alysia.

  Agnarr shook his head, groaning at the kingdom falling from his grasp. “I don’t know
if you can anymore. By now there is certain to be a new king or queen of Vasslehün. Unless you know who it is …?”

  “We don’t.”

  “Then I’ll need to send a scout. How long can you stay here?”

  “Not long. I sent one of our riders back to Anglaterra telling them of our ambush by the vampire. If I don’t leave for Orkust by tomorrow, my husband will command an attack against Brilskeep. Can you gather enough of your people to take the castle yourself?”

  Agnarr scoffed. “No one can take the castle. Even laying a siege will expose us to vampires. The only way through those doors is by being invited, and thanks to my dead son I’m quite sure everyone in Vasslehün will know that I intended take the throne from Draegor.”

  Alysia fell quiet, needing a moment to think things through. “How were you going to do it?”

  “By convincing enough of the nobles to not interfere. I was going to go myself to ask for Draegor’s permission to target new lands in the coming seasons. We’ve already tested the areas. They have steel unlike anything my blacksmiths have seen before.”

  “How would you have … deposed of him?”

  Agnarr queried the unknown phrase. “You mean kill him?”

  Alysia offered an embarrassed nod.

  “Blood rot.”

  “That’s … how you kill vampires.”

  “It’s how you poison vampires, yes. Give it to a human and he’ll start to slur, throw up, even blister from his skin breaking. Soon he’ll suffer all the same effects of turning into a vampire. His advisors will be convinced that one of the vampires got to him. I would perform a mercy killing. But now you tell me I’m too late.”

  “Bad timing,” muttered Alysia. “Could you use the blood rot on whoever is on the throne now?”

  “Not if everyone now knows that I’m a usurper.” Agnarr fell quiet. “Did my son suffer before they killed him?”