Cold Blooded

by Jackson Lear

  The rest of the soldiers remained quiet, except for Wilbur. “He won’t tell them anything.”

  “He will. We have prisoners?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you’re going to come with me and find out how long someone under duress can hold their tongue.” I looked back to Saskia. “Patch her up as best you can. It’s going to be a rough couple of days but soon enough she’ll turn, and when she does she’ll be more useful than any doctor among us.”

  Jarmella squinted back at me, ready to give the okay to mercy-kill their commanding officer. I stared back at the twenty year old, having just kissed death myself and now surrounded by the very best of Kasera’s unmarried and childless soldiers. It would be her first test of being in command and I wasn’t sure how she was going to take it. Neither did she, I imagine.

  I wish it was as clear cut as simply heading after Alysia but it wasn’t. There were still twenty one of us and only two fishing boats – row boats at best. We wouldn’t all fit. I don’t know if Jarmella knew this yet but it would soon become clear that we had no hope of rowing after Alysia. If we waited for another of Agnarr’s ships to return then we would have a hard time fighting their crew with most of us injured. It was better for Jarmella to come to that realization without me sticking it to her.

  I went to find our prisoners.

  Chapter Thirty

  Kasera’s vanguard had managed to wrangle three of Draegor’s people to the ground, injuring them sufficiently so they were too much of a liability to take back with them. They were all bearded, all hardy, but none looked like professional soldiers. Professional raiders, maybe, but they were more likely to have been sailors and fishermen before the fight began … which I guess was true for a lot of Ispar’s soldiers, who were masons, foragers, and carpenters until they needed to drive their sword into someone’s chest.

  Of the three choices I went with the young blond guy first. Braided hair. Braided beard. Maybe twenty five years old. Almost as tall as me. Two streaks of vertical war paint down each eye. One of his legs seemed off, right around his knee. He didn’t dare move it.

  I looked to Wilbur. “Where’s Lindum?”

  “She went with Miss Kasera, sir.”

  “Do we have another translator?”

  “I can find someone. One of the villagers, maybe.”

  “There’s a girl. Anka. About eleven years old. You might have seen me with her yesterday.”

  “I think so.”

  “Her.”

  He ran off. The prisoners and I spent some time staring at each other. The other two were older, also with war paint over their faces, also with unique braids in their hair. They were sporting wounds and were bleeding out. They seemed well versed in being held prisoner and later exchanged for a ransom. If they hadn’t experienced it personally then they at least knew someone who had once been a captive. The young one was full of boyish bravura.

  Wilbur returned with Anka and her grandfather hobbling behind. She could barely get one foot in front of the other for all of her trembling, terrified at the attack which had just destroyed her village.

  “I’m sorry for what’s happened to your home and your loved ones but I need your help right now. Are you able to translate what I say to them?”

  She squinted at me, her eyes locked onto my mouth as I spoke and weaving her head from side to side with every change of word. Yesterday she was fine with her language skills. Now? Not so much.

  “There are three guys down there. Can you point to the blond one and – in Isparian – say ‘him’?”

  She pointed at the young guy. “Him.”

  The blond raider glanced between me and Anka, uncertain of what we were saying.

  “Did you see any of these three hurt anyone you know?”

  “No.”

  “Can you point to the same blond guy and say ‘he did’?”

  She did so. The blond guy sank back a little, his bravura slipping away.

  I turned my attention onto him. “I have drugs that will ease the pain and I have a paste of fire ants that will burn your skin.” Anka translated.

  The raider stared back at me, breathing deeply to combat his broken leg.

  “So be it. I’ll ask you some questions. You will give me some attitude. Together we will waste each other’s time until things get unpleasant, so know this: there is no ransom here.” I waited for Anka to translate, more for the sake of the other two who were listening. “I’m going to separate each of you. I’m going to ask you each the same set of questions. If one of you gives me an answer that is different to the other two – even if it’s the truth – that person gets the fire ants. Whoever is most useful will go free. Today. You might make it back home. Whoever is next most useful can decide how they die: by drowning, by fire, or by decapitation. Whoever is the least helpful will be a gift to the people here. Your weapons will be a gift to them as well. Your fate will be left completely up to them. So have a moment to think about it because you three fucked up by getting caught. You attacked these people and you weren’t able to get away.” I gave them to the count of three. “Your moment’s over.”

  I grabbed the blond one by his hair, dragged him as he scrambled to hold onto his scalp while hobbling backward with one functioning leg, the other bouncing over the uneven ground and causing him to shriek with every bump.

  “Anka? I need your help, please.”

  Anka – now as pale as a ghost in the full moon – followed.

  I dumped the blond guy against a tree. He hissed, rotated his leg back around, and couldn’t hide the tears that escaped him. He was by no means crying; it was more a case of agony-induced shock which his body didn’t know how to handle.

  “Tell me the plan for Faersrock,” I said. “Who organized it, who was in charge during the raid, where you come from, where you were all supposed to head back to, who you were targeting, where you are taking your prisoners, what is supposed to happen to them, are there other attacks planned … everything. Go.”

  Blondie hissed. I nudged his injured leg a couple of times, shooting him with pain until, at last, he gave me what I wanted.

  He was a new rider belonging to the Lord of Ice Bridge’s house. The horses were a gift and given a specific type of food that made them stronger and faster but also more unstable. Razoz was in charge of the raid. Ice Bridge is bigger than Faersrock and it guards an island between several bridges made of gray and blue stone that sometimes looks like ice and is used to cross the icy rivers. That’s where they came from, that’s where they’re returning to. They came to capture as many of General Kasera’s people as possible. He didn’t seem familiar at all with Alysia being there, only that the vampire in charge knew who to look for and would point them out. He didn’t know what was supposed to become of them but he presumed they would be ransomed. He didn’t know of any other attacks.

  “Do you know that Draegor’s dead?”

  He shook his head at me, unimpressed by what was surely an obvious lie.

  “Who’s next in line to the throne?”

  He shrugged. “Everyone.”

  I left it at that until I had a chance to corroborate his story with the other two. One of them got a nasty case of fire ants. The other got a couple of slaps to the face. Overall I was given the same kind of answers. None of them were high-level riders but all agreed that Draegor wasn’t dead, no one specific was next in line to the throne, and they were all heading back to Ice Bridge as fast as possible.

  I pulled Anka and her grandfather to the side. “How soon are Agnarr’s ships likely to arrive?”

  “Not long,” muttered the grandfather, through Anka. “Three days, maybe. Elmark returned early.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “No. He’s one of the best raiders. But you don’t want to be here when the others return.”

  “I don’t plan on it. How quickly can I get to Ice Bridge?”

  The old man blew out his lips and shook his head. “Four days. Maybe five.”

&
nbsp; “How quickly can I get to Ice Bridge?”

  He reconsidered, piercing me intently. “You’re injured.”

  “And still determined.”

  “Three days is the fastest anyone has ever done it.”

  “Is there a quick way?”

  “No. There’s a mountain pass open in the summer but not in winter.”

  “The snowfall is still light.”

  “Here, yes. If you go up there you’ll probably die trying.”

  “I also need a guide. Someone who knows this land well, knows that mountain pass, and who knows how to sail. Who do you recommend?”

  The old man fell silent, thinking. Anka came to the rescue. “Yahnson.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “The blacksmith.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If he is, tell him I’d like to hire him and one other person to guide me and the vanguard to Ice Bridge.”

  The old man muttered. “You have injured people.”

  “I know. I’d like one guide to take the vanguard the safe way, the other guide to take me the fastest way possible.”

  He squinted through his hilariously bushy eyebrows. “You’re going to ambush the cavalry?”

  “I’m going to try.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Razoz had stopped bleeding, turning whatever blood was still in him toxic. A couple of the villagers found that out the hard way and puked their guts up. The other vampire – presumably the Lord of Everstil, had been beheaded and drained, reviving most of the injured vanguard and a few of the locals, but our wounds were far from completely healed.

  My leather armor clung to my skin as I peeled it off, a mix of sweat, blood, and salt water had formed a glue-like sap across my whole body. A hole was still prominent in my chest and back. One of the villagers threaded a needle through my wound while another got to work on my back. I was busy wrapping my left wrist with a splint and bandage. Vampire blood was great at closing wounds that normally healed in a matter of days or a couple of weeks, but it would take a lot more than what I had to fast track through two months of healing bones back to normal.

  Jarmella stopped in front of me. “May I have a word?”

  “By all means.”

  She didn’t even look around to see if any of the troops were listening. A full boss move. I liked it. “We were warned about you, that you are a thief, a thug, a kidnapper, and – by and large – a typical mercenary. Those warnings aside, you have orders which come directly from General Kasera. We are to safeguard Miss Kasera Lavarta. You as well. She’s heading south. We need to catch up to her. Losing Lieutenant Loken is unfortunate but it’s a price we’re going to pay.” She waited a moment, no doubt expecting me to answer back. I did not. She shifted her stance. Her voice trembled with a hint of nerves. “We’re going to head south as soon as the next ship returns to Faersrock.” She waited another moment while I remained silent. “If you do not follow the general’s orders I will report your behavior to him.”

  “As you should.”

  “I will. The first ship is due back within the next few days. Please report to Ewen and help the surviving infantry establish defenses and assist us while keeping watch.”

  “I won’t be here for that.”

  She paused, her jaw clenching tight. “You could be executed for desertion, you know that? And despite ‘none of us’ hearing the shouting match between you and Miss Kasera Lavarta, you could be whipped for insolence as well.”

  “I am not a soldier so the rules of desertion don’t apply. I was hired to do a job. The job isn’t over.”

  “You were hired to protect Miss Kasera Lavarta.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Not to run off on revenge missions.”

  “Are the Kaseras in more danger now because of our incursion or are they safer? Do we know if the new king has united the northerners by vowing to reclaim Galinnia? Are the vampires going to target the Kaseras directly?”

  Another shift in her stance. “This is not your call to make.”

  “It is. I’ve arranged for a guide to lead you and the rest of the vanguard to Ice Bridge. I expect to be there when you arrive. If I’m not – or if you find an opportunity to get on the first ship you find – I suggest you take it and leave me behind. Don’t wait for me either. I’ll find my way back to Anglaterra.”

  Jarmella’s voice trembled. Mine had too when I was a twenty year old trying to command an uncooperative thirty five year old killer. She glanced over one shoulder. “Wilbur!”

  Wilbur hurried towards us. “Yes?”

  “I’m placing Raike under confinement. As soon as he’s done being patched up you are to bind him and keep him from running off.”

  “Don’t do that,” I said.

  Wilbur – nineteen years old – wasn’t exactly sure who to look at.

  “You’ve left me with no choice,” said Jarmella. “I understand the desire to go after Loken and the others. We just don’t have the manpower to do it. There are over a hundred riders still alive and only twenty one of us – including you. They have every advantage. They know the land. We don’t. They can call upon reinforcements. We can’t. If we go after them, we’ll die. I’m confining you until we get back to Orkust. Wilbur? Watch over him.”

  Torunn called out. He seemed to be leading a bunch of scraggly villagers towards us. All armed with chipped axes, old swords, and dented shields. Some as young as fourteen. Some as old as seventy. Jarmella instinctively reached for her sword even though the survivors didn’t look ready for a fight.

  “They want to come with you,” Torunn said to me.

  “We can’t take you back with us,” said Jarmella, slowly and with a hint of genuine anguish.

  Torunn puzzled a look at her before pointing to me. “Not you. Him. But you should come too.”

  Her jaw flittered, her lips arcing down with displeasure. “I’m not about to be kidnapped again.”

  “There are no boats here.”

  “We’ll wait.”

  “You don’t want to meet those captains. You need to get to Ice Bridge. They have boats there you can take.”

  Jarmella drew in an aggressive breath. “Why don’t I want to meet your captains?”

  “When they get here and see Agnarr is gone they will …” he trailed off, the word he wanted unknown to him. “Fight. They will fight to be new noble of Faersrock. When they ask why their families are dead, survivors will tell them it’s because you brought vampires here. Agnarr sent them away because you were coming. He did that quietly. When they come back they will know it was trick against them to help you. They will not like it.”

  Jarmella turned to me. “Did you tell him to say this?”

  “I’ve been interrogating prisoners and getting patched up.” The old man sewing up my chest nodded a toothless grin at me. Clapped me on my shoulder. I hissed against the burst of pain. He apologized quickly.

  One of the survivors began speaking emphatically. A burly guy of fifty with hands worn from a lifetime of cutting down trees and dealing with cuts and mishaps by dipping his wounds in sea water and getting on with his life. Mangled teeth, kinda like someone had knocked them all out and stuffed them back into his gums without much care.

  “They took some of our people,” said Torunn. “We are going to get them back.”

  “What’s in Ice Bridge?” I asked.

  “Draegor’s fleet. They build ships there.”

  “And that’s where the riders with Loken are going?”

  “That’s where they came from and where they live.”

  “Why did Agnarr leave?”

  Torunn’s features knotted together. “He went to get help from Elizandria.”

  “Then he wasn’t going to make it back to Faersrock in time.”

  “No.”

  “So he abandoned you.”

  Torunn squinted with a burst of anger. “Captains are coming back. Captains will fight. If Agnarr is not back in
time, one captain will be new noble of Faersrock. New noble kills enemies.”

  Jarmella said: “They’ll turn on him that quickly?”

  “Our home was attacked by our king. If captains believe giving Agnarr to Draegor will stop more attacks, that is what they will do. You should not be here when they come.”

  I glanced over to Jarmella, who was probably swearing internally just as much as I was. The whole point in splitting up was because the vanguard were injured and would be slowing me down.

  She said: “I can’t ally our troops with northern raiders. There’s protocol for selecting an ally.”

  I countered. “Isparian armies hire mercenaries all the time to help guide them through unknown territory, right? Or get messages to their allies or opposition behind occupied walls.”

  Jarmella held a chilly look on me.

  “And mercenaries hire locals to help guide them through unknown territory or the like.”

  The mangled teeth guy murmured again. “We must hurry,” Torunn translated. “We have people to rescue.”

  “We have bodies which need to be transported,” said Jarmella.

  I looked to Torunn. “We need assurances that these bodies will not be taken care of.”

  “They need a proper send off,” said Jarmella.

  “We’re not going to reach imperial land within five days. No chance.”

  One of the northerners piped up. “They will be treated like our own.”

  “Dropped in the lake?”

  He nodded.

  I turned to Jarmella. “I believe them when they say you shouldn’t be here when Agnarr’s fleet returns. They’re going to be pissed that a lot of their friends and family died when they weren’t here to defend them.”

  Jarmella chewed on her conscience as she struggled with the answer.

  I asked Torunn, “How many captains are there?”

  “Seven.”

  “How many people are in their crews?”

  “Twenty each.”

  I waited for Jarmella. She was slow to form an answer so I interjected. “Do any of you use magic?”