Cold Blooded

by Jackson Lear

  “Do you speak Isparian?”

  The old man glanced up, groaning with a mix of disapproval and resignation. The eleven year old hid behind him.

  “You looked like you were trying to listen to us, to practice. Do you speak Isparian?”

  The old man wheezed at her. “Anka?”

  “A little,” she answered, her nervous intonation making it sound more like a question.

  “My name is Raike. This is Zara.”

  Zara smiled like she had the warmest soul in the world, changing her expression in a second from the usual disgruntled look she perpetually gave me. “Hi Anka. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Who taught you Isparian?”

  “My mother.”

  “Was she Isparian?”

  “Not really.”

  “Where was she from?”

  “Gerera.”

  One of Ispar’s provinces, though if Anka’s mother was at all like me then we were both foreigners due to a lack of citizenship, despite being born and raised to people who themselves were born and raised in Ispar’s land.

  I asked, “Can we get your help to talk to people?”

  The old man muttered something under his breath.

  I dug out one of Draegor’s silver coins from my pocket. “I’d like to hire you for an hour. You show us around Faersrock and help us talk to people. Okay?”

  She looked back to her grandfather as he shot a stern glare at us, muttering to Anka. “He wants to know where you got that.”

  “Brilskeep. I’ll give you this now and you help us for an hour.”

  The grandfather climbed uneasily to his feet. Held out his hand. I paid up.

  “I have a couple of questions before we go anywhere. Is Agnarr married?”

  Anka had the answer. “Yes.”

  “Who to?”

  “Beatrix.”

  “How long have they been married?”

  She shrugged, not knowing the exact timing of it all. Her grandfather had the answer. “Two years,” translated Anka.

  “Is she here?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Does she live here?”

  The old man strained his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Some nobles in the south are married but live in different cities. Does Beatrix live here?”

  “Oh. Yes.”

  “When did she leave?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve only noticed she isn’t here.”

  “Does she go away often?”

  “No, never,” muttered the old man, before realizing that wasn’t true and stumbling over Anka’s translation. “Yes. Once to see her mother before she died.”

  “Is her father still alive?”

  “No.”

  “Does she have any brothers or sisters?”

  “A sister, I think.”

  “Where does the sister live?”

  “West of here.”

  “Does Beatrix have any hatred towards Ispar? Did she lose her brothers to General Kasera?”

  “Not that I know of, but a lot of people up here don’t like Ispar.”

  “When are the rest of Agnarr’s ships supposed to return?”

  “Not today. Probably not tomorrow.”

  “Have you heard of Elizandria?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you. Can you show us around now?”

  The locals weren’t going to let us out of their sight, that much was certain. Pockets of nosy northerners followed us around, concerned that General Kasera’s vanguard had landed in their home and were already staking out the place.

  I asked: “Were we expected?”

  “No.”

  “When important guests arrive is there any kind of big feast? A moose on a spit? Ice wine?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Was any of that being prepared in the last couple of days?”

  “No.”

  “So everything was normal? Just another couple of days in Faersrock?”

  “Yes.”

  I added it to the list of concerns. I knew Mikael was well versed in exaggeration but he had been quite certain that a moose and ice wine would be served for Agnarr’s most important guests. Admittedly Agnarr may have wanted a low-key meeting, a rendezvous in the church that was away from prying eyes, and maybe he wasn’t expecting so many of us to arrive, but even so his lack of preparation wasn’t reassuring.

  Zara whispered to me. “How is it you have a silver coin from Vasslehün when all of our money was taken from us?”

  “I’m lucky like that.”

  “Right.” Zara spoke to Anka’s grandfather. “How much is that coin worth?”

  “It will feed us for a month.”

  “That must be some luck.”

  I sent Zara a shit-eating grin. We stopped at the blacksmith’s. The roar of heat from the dome kiln was a welcomed relief from the chill around my neck. The man himself rose from stoking the fire. The left side of his face was scarred with burns and flecks of soot. He tried to hide it by wearing his singed hair down over his face. He would’ve looked better pulling his hair back completely.

  The blacksmith cast his eyes over us and muttered a few curses. Anka recoiled. Her grandfather wheezed a ‘language, please.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ was the general vibe from the blacksmith.

  “Ask him if he knows of Elizandria, the mercenary queen,” I said.

  “He doesn’t want to talk to us,” whispered the girl.

  “Ask him if he knows of Elizandria, the mercenary queen.”

  Nervously, the girl asked. “What of her?” came the reply.

  “Is she trustworthy?”

  “She’s a mercenary, so no.”

  “Has she ever screwed over Agnarr or Faersrock?”

  “She’s never been here.”

  “What about her people?”

  “They’ve never been here either.”

  A change of topic was needed. “I hear you make the best steel in all of the north.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “All right. Where’s Beatrix?”

  “Which one?”

  “Agnarr’s wife.”

  “She’s already married. Find someone else.”

  “I want to find her.”

  “Tough shit.”

  “Did you know that Agnarr’s son, Johnan, is dead?”

  “Yeah. It’s a tragedy.”

  I couldn’t tell from his attitude if he was being genuine or sarcastic. “How many children has Agnarr lost?”

  “What the fuck kind of question is that?”

  “All the ones from his first wife?”

  The blacksmith paused as something clicked into place.

  “And all the ones from his second wife?”

  Still pausing. Still figuring it out. Zara glanced over her shoulder, seeing trouble come our way.

  “Does he have any children alive who were aren’t from Beatrix?”

  His eyebrows knotted together. I was about to get another ‘fuck you.’

  A crunch of boots stopped behind us. “You southerners certainly have a way with people,” said Agnarr. “And yes: most of my children are dead. Now tell me why I shouldn’t set the dogs on you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “My condolences,” I said to Agnarr.

  He didn’t seem to take it to heart.

  “Why did you send your wife away?” I asked.

  Agnarr had already taken on the feel of a would-be-king, high and mighty despite living in a three room home. “I was being safe. You coming here is difficult for a lot of people. I had to send a lot of my captains away because they would probably have tried to kill you. If you had been caught then Draegor would likely have sent a fleet here himself. Beatrix and our children are in danger and I have no desire to see them die because of you.”

  Zara slipped into the most soothing voice I had ever heard. “I apologize wholeheartedly if we have offended you.”

  “I don’t accept your apology. Why was he asking about my dead children?”<
br />
  “My friend has a job to do and it requires asking some difficult questions.”

  The blacksmith muttered behind us in what sounded like a recital of my questioning.

  “And why are you asking about Elizandria?”

  “She sent a messenger to you,” I said.

  “Did she? Or did she say she had?”

  “She said it.”

  “I didn’t get one.”

  “But she’s someone you would’ve had to have dealt with if you claimed the throne. She’s hired to protect half of the noble families up here, isn’t she?”

  “So?”

  “So you would’ve communicated with her already.”

  “She knows more about what’s going on in Vasslehün than Draegor’s witch even does.” Agnarr lifted his chin to peer down at me. “Why were you asking about my children?”

  “Because you sent Johnan to Draegor when you could’ve sent someone else.”

  “Johnan was my heir.”

  “Did he and Beatrix get along?”

  I’ve rarely seen a pair of eyes snarl, but Agnarr’s did right then. “I can see why you have so many scars.” He muttered to Anka and her grandfather, asking about why they’re helping us. Agnarr returned his dreadful glare back to me. “You have silver from Draegor.”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  Curious to see where this was going, I handed over a coin. Agnarr examined it closely, lost in thought as he turned it over in his hand. “How did you get this?”

  “It was scattered across the floor after Draegor killed a few of Elizandria’s mercenaries. Their pockets were loaded with silver.”

  He furrowed his brow. Returned the coin. “How do you know they were mercenaries?”

  “Experience.”

  “How … exactly?”

  “Noble families and their guards tend to wear similar clothing. They use the same furrier, smith, and cobbler. Mercenaries take from the dead. Their clothing might be as nice as a nobleman’s but it will not match anyone else’s in their group. Have you ever been to Castle Brilskeep?”

  “Many times.”

  “Where did Draegor sleep?”

  “In one of the corners halfway up the castle. Why?”

  “Because if you still want to claim the throne it will be good to know if the new king has taken up residence in Draegor’s old room. Did you received a messenger from Elizandria?”

  “No. And I wouldn’t trust her.”

  “I don’t. I spoke with her. She seemed to want to be on your side but something about her said that if you were successful she didn’t expect you to remain king for very long.”

  Agnarr shifted, easing the pressure on his faulty leg. “She told you this?”

  “Yeah, but it could’ve been a test. What does she look like?”

  He peered back at me, not quite following along. “You met her.”

  “I met someone who said they were her.”

  He was now up to speed. “She has a fake eye. Blue. That should be enough.”

  “Tall?”

  “Shorter than usual.”

  “Age?”

  “Fifty? Fifty five? Something like that. Isn’t the fake eye enough?”

  “Depends. How many of the nobles hate each other?”

  “All of them.” Agnarr glanced over his shoulder, desperate to end our conversation. “You should go back inside. Leave my people alone. If you bother them again I will not take it lightly.” He turned. Crunched his way back home. The rest of the locals remained nearby, spying on us.

  I thanked Anka and her grandfather and walked with Zara back towards the center of town.

  “It’s exhausting watching you work,” said Zara.

  “That’s why I tend to do it alone.”

  “You asked me to come with you.”

  “How long would you have stayed in the tavern, twiddling your thumbs while I was out here finding out what’s going on?”

  “Yeah. Did you get what you wanted?”

  “Sort of. How much do you think mercenaries would charge to kill the king they’ve been hired to protect?”

  “That’s more of your expertise than me.”

  “I know. Humor me.”

  “A year’s salary?”

  “Probably, but the thing you want most is security. If you kill the king and no one hires you again then a year’s salary isn’t worth it, but it is plenty if there is a deal to keep you around long after the job is done.”

  “So one or more of the nobles hired Elizandria’s mercenaries to kill Draegor?”

  “Not sure. Draegor had no reason to be on the lower floors of the castle, yet there he was. He came out swinging at them and they were forced back into a defensive fight.”

  “He was high on vampire blood.”

  “Even so, they weren’t expecting it.”

  “So maybe they were hired to kill the nobles we found in the great hall.”

  “That’s more likely.”

  Zara worked with the idea. “All right, so there’s a coup. At least three of Elizandria’s mercenaries killed a bunch of drunk or drugged nobles. The rest of the castle was largely empty. We headed upstairs, fought ... Kaymor, was it?”

  “Yeah. The bear.”

  “We fought Kaymor, rescued Alysia … why wasn’t Kaymor protecting Draegor?”

  “Maybe he was on his way to Draegor when we all crashed into each other.”

  “So in that time the mercenaries killed the nobles, went off somewhere, we met up with the rest of the vanguard, heard Draegor’s roar, you stayed behind while we escaped, and you found him fighting those three who were loaded up on, what, a year’s salary?”

  “Yeah.”

  We walked on, thinking it over. “Desdola and Draegor both came from the same doorway into the great hall.”

  “You think the mercenaries were there to kill her?”

  “And they found Draegor instead.” Zara shivered. Looked to the tavern. “I smell food.”

  My stomach had already entered that nauseas stage where a lack of food was tugging on my insides. “As long as it isn’t sea slugs.”

  “They’re not that bad, actually.”

  “Really? They remind you of home?”

  “I didn’t see the ocean or a lake this big until I was indentured, so no.”

  We headed towards the tavern where – thankfully – the smell of cooked vegetables overpowered the stench of seaweed and fish.

  “Who did Desdola show you?” I asked.

  “No one.”

  “Come on, she showed you someone.”

  “Didn’t see anyone.”

  “You drank blood wine and you were anxious on the boat out of Brilskeep.”

  “We had been under attack.”

  “We weren’t anymore. You were listening to someone.”

  “I was trying not to listen to half the crew fighting off their own visions.”

  “So who did you see?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure it does.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Desdola got to you, didn’t she?”

  It was strange seeing Zara this agitated when she had remained perfectly calm in a confrontation with Agnarr about his evacuated wife and dead children.

  “Drop it,” warned Zara.

  “Are they still alive?”

  “No.”

  We walked on. “Neither’s mine.”

  “You saw your father.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You said he was still alive.”

  “You tell me. You vetted me long before I joined the Kaseras.”

  She offered me a slow nod. “He’s still alive. His memory is not what it used to be. The neighbors said you kept running away from the orphanage to come back home and that he would dump you into the sestas arms again as soon as he could.”

  “He doesn’t remember that?”

  “He was fairly drunk when I spoke to him.”

  We reached the tavern. “Yo
u go on in. I’m going to take another look around.”

  “This is not the night to clear your head.”

  “Trust me, I still have things to check up on. Can you leave a bowl out for me? Maybe under one of those row boats so the dogs don’t get to it?”

  “They’re not going to like having a stranger from the south wandering around freely in their home town.”

  “It’ll be dark. They’ll be drunk.”

  “You’ll be tired.”

  “And if I need help you’ll hear me shouting.”

  Zara sighed, shaking her head. “Fine. Stay out. It’s going to be cold and you’ll regret it come morning.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  She lingered for a moment, half ready to head inside yet something kept her at bay. “The ghost I saw … Back when I knew him he said he’d leave his wife for me. I said yes. It wasn’t until he said that with all of his money we’d never have to work again that I reconsidered.”

  “You were on the job?”

  “Him and his wife. She was the closest thing I had to a best friend for years, but even with all that I took every secret they had and fucked them over.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  Slowly, she nodded. “I hope so.”

  “Then it’s not too late.”

  “Some things are.” She offered me a look of complete defeat. “Don’t get too close to Alysia. Or to me. It won’t end well.” She headed into the bustle of the vanguard eating dinner and relaxing against the warm fire.

  I pulled back, trying to take heed of Zara’s warning. All around me the quiet fishing town of Faersrock settled in for the night; doors closing, shutters bolting, fires lighting, chimneys smoking. A couple of stragglers stumbled around, some drunk, some limping, others making one final trip to the out house. Some of the youngsters emerged, playing out on the dark road with a couple of the dogs keeping watch. The older children huddled together on doorsteps. The ones nearly of adult age crept into the trees with a horn of ale tucked under their clothes and a bulge in their crotch. The parents remained inside, rattling the house, shaking the foundations, and slumping to a disappointed finish. Slowly the kids were called back inside.

  I waited, keeping watch over the fjord, the tavern with Alysia and the vanguard inside, the dirt road to the longboat a couple of miles away, and a bunch of ramshackle homes which seemed a lot warmer than the snow flurry that kept me company. I bunched myself deeper into my cloak, wrapped snuggly in Draegor’s toasty gloves, and passed the time by trying to blow rings of mist from my mouth.