Cold Blooded

by Jackson Lear

  I remember checking the front of the ship to verify their story. “The front of their ship was damaged. They were definitely rammed by another ship.”

  Jarmella said: “And the crew were imprisoned. Some were killed. None of them looked like they wanted to be in Brilskeep when we were there. It looked like their plan to get us back to Faersrock had gone horribly wrong.”

  “And the rowers were apologizing non-stop when we were getting away,” said Menrihk.

  “Even so, they took Agnarr off to who knows where,” said Jarmella. “All of them except for Torunn who – conveniently – has offered to help us reach Ice Bridge.”

  “And Agnarr certainly didn’t seem thrilled to see us,” said Gaynun.

  “You met with him in the tavern,” said Jarmella. “Did he give any indication at all that he was involved in something suspect?”

  “Just a gut feeling,” I said. “One that’s starting to agree with Gaynun and Menrihk.”

  Jarmella shook her head. “I can’t tell if we’ve blundered into one trap after another but this whole thing started because we reached out to someone in the north and Agnarr answered.”

  “So why did we come all this way to meet a would-be king who doesn’t actually want to become king?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Ivar and Magnus bounded back to us, each limping from a dozen blisters and covered in frost from frequent falls. They threw their arms around as many of the vanguard as they could.

  “Oh, thank the gods we were following the right tracks,” said Ivar, his lungs practically bursting from the six hour hustle. “We saw your lantern a while back and then nothing. Kinda got us worried.”

  “Except for the lack of dead bodies,” gasped Magnus.

  “You didn’t see two of them?” asked Jarmella.

  Ivar and Magnus recoiled. “Shit, who did we lose?”

  “No one. We found a couple of northerners who died a month ago.”

  Ivar slapped Magnus across the arm. “I told you they weren’t just taking a piss break.”

  “Did anyone follow you?” asked Jarmella.

  “No. They all ran away.”

  “The fifty cavalry?”

  Stassa crept forward. “Any prisoners?”

  Magnus shook his head. “No, sorry. We got seven riders.”

  “Killed three of them,” said Ivar.

  “Injured a couple of the horses as well.”

  “Probably not enough to make much of a difference but every little bit counts, right?”

  “Right up until they figured out where we were,” said Magnus.

  “Any vampires among them?” asked Jarmella.

  “One,” said Ivar. “She looked like half of her face had been torn off.”

  Odalis muttered: “That was thanks to Loken back in Faersrock. I think she was the one who grabbed him.”

  The northerners started to trundle away, continuing on with our unending journey.

  “Thank you,” said Jarmella. “You probably saved our lives.”

  Mangus stuck his hand out first. Jarmella awkwardly shook it, forgetting that a service of that magnitude deserves at least a handshake. She did the same for Ivar.

  “Gaynun? Keep an eye on our rear.”

  “Yes sir.”

  I kept running through the timing of it all. The fifty cavalry who chased us had sacrificed an hour doubling back, three more hours heading towards the mountain instead of towards Ice Bridge – which wasn’t much of a detour but a detour nonetheless – engaged in a short melee that left some of them dead and others injured, and maybe another three hours to return to the rest of Draegor’s cavalry. Had the other riders waited for them? It was possible. Perhaps half of them were already exhausted and their horses needed a rest. Perhaps they sent their more capable fighters back to force us to change course. Either way they were likely to know that imperial archers were spotted near the mountain pass. If they inspected the area they would know that sixty of us had just taken a short cut to intercept them. A fast rider would return to the rest of the cavalry, and another would head to Ice Bridge as quickly as they could to raise the alarm. There was no way we could get there in time.

  Wilbur was pinned to my ass again. “Sir?”

  As best as I could tell it was three hours until dawn. No one had slept. Stomachs empty. Limbs numb. Minds foggy. Attention on our surroundings: haphazard at best.

  “What is it, Wilbur?”

  “Are they going to kill us up here?”

  “Who? The vampires or Draegor’s riders?”

  “Our … allies.”

  “Are allies known for killing imperial soldiers?”

  “No, sir. But if they did there’s no one to tell the general how or where we died. This is the perfect situation for them to get away with it.”

  “You’re sure? You don’t think Zara’s already on the job of finding out how this whole thing went wrong? Or that a reward of a thousand marks for any information regarding our demise might be tempting enough to someone who watched us die?”

  Wilbur stumbled along. Head down. Mind too tired to think of anything optimistic.

  “Fine. Let’s say that half of the northerners with us are here because they’re on a rescue mission, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And the other half are planning to kill us. Some of the ones on the rescue mission know what the other half is planning and are calling for patience. Why? Because the most reasonable compromise to their two goals is to use us to help rescue their prisoners. Pit us against Draegor’s cavalry, we whittle down the riders, the riders whittles down us, their people are freed, one half has exactly what they wanted, now the other half get their chance to turn on us. That’s certainly a better plan than turning against us right now, isn’t it? They’ve seen us fight. They know that we broke out of a dungeon without any weapons, into a castle, out of a castle, into another dungeon to free Agnarr’s crew, out of that dungeon, onto a ship, that we made a stand against a cavalry which outnumbered us two hundred to thirty, by picking ourselves up again and charging after the bastards because they took just one of ours prisoner, that two of us engaged fifty of Draegor’s riders and scared them off, and now we’re taking one hell of a short cut that has tired them out more than us. Would you take on anyone with our kind of success rate?”

  Wilbur stared back at me, wide eyed and – dare I say it – proud.

  “And that was with just thirty two members of General Kasera’s vanguard. By the time you guys get back to Erast you’re going to be legendary.”

  “We also took down two vampires.”

  Saskia murmured behind us, her voice shifting into a toxic snarl. Jarmella went back to calm her down, speaking more to the dying person than the rising demon in Saskia’s soul.

  Wilbur’s good mood didn’t last for long. “How long do we have until she turns into a full blown vampire?”

  “Hopefully not until we’re off the mountain.”

  “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I agree with Jarmella. If there’s really no hope for her we should’ve been merciful on the beach.”

  “What did you take from the dead riders at Faersrock? And from your dead comrades? Anything?”

  Wilbur fell quiet.

  “Exactly. You took what was useful and left behind whatever was too much of a burden. Saskia is useful.”

  “If she attacks us … I mean, it took all of us just to bring down one and you nearly died fighting the other.”

  “Razoz was ancient. The first couple of days as a vampire are their weakest. They’ll still have the strength of a human until they’ve fed and had a chance for that blood to make its way through their body.”

  “Does that mean she won’t be able to heal us either?”

  “Yep.”

  “So … she needs to drink someone dry before she can fully heal us?”

  Still three hours until the sun rose. Three more hours of utter misery until the light cheered everyone up on its own.

  “Is
it true you met Governor Gustali?”

  I guess my rousing speech wasn’t rousing enough.

  “What was he like?”

  “Gregarious.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. I heard it from Alysia. Why does it matter if I met him?”

  “Because he’s the governor.”

  “I’m not a citizen so he’s not really my governor, is he?”

  “Well, you’re from Syuss, so … what if you met the emperor?”

  “That would certainly be something.”

  “What if Governor Gustali became the emperor?”

  “Then I’d probably be able to make a few coins in taverns by telling people how I met him, dined with him and his family, and how I knew his son before he went off to the Ashlon Fields.”

  “Can’t believe he volunteered for that. The guts he must have …” He fell quiet for a moment. Opened his mouth.

  “Wilbur?”

  “Sir?”

  “Pipe down.”

  “Sorry sir. It’s just …”

  “Whatever questions you have can wait. Chatty soldiers don’t last long in enemy territory.”

  “I know, sir. It’s just that … I have orders.”

  “Uh huh? To do what, exactly?”

  “To find out what you’re up to.”

  I would’ve sent him a look but it was dark and I didn’t want to trip. “Jarmella’s orders?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “When did you receive them?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Maybe I have orders too.”

  He looked fairly hopeful when he asked: “What they are?”

  “Not happening. Who do you think has seniority here?”

  “Jarmella.”

  “So why do others think differently?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Mutiny usually is.”

  “It’s not mutiny, sir. Far from it. See, there are four paths of seniority that don’t involve rank. Much of it is implied so that’s where it gets a little complicated.”

  I started to wonder if we had four hours until sunrise instead of three.

  “Say you come from a family – like anyone with the last name Kasera, Lavarta, Gustali, or Renair – and obviously the higher up your family is the more seniority you have – well, if one of them was here as a private they would be in charge right now.”

  “Even if it was their first day on the job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even if it was their first day on the job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait, so if Domillon Kasera – how old is he now? Fifteen?”

  “Sixteen, I think.”

  “If he joined the army while his father was general …”

  “He would be in charge of us right now if he was here because there are no lieutenants or sergeants to overrule him. But that might not be a great example because Domillon is a lieutenant.”

  “At sixteen?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And he was never a private?”

  “No sir.”

  “Did he do basic training with privates or officers?”

  “Officers.”

  I needed a moment to wrap my head around that. “All right, so there are two lieutenants, one with a family name and the other without a family name. The one with the family name is always in charge?”

  “Unless someone of higher authority has explicitly said otherwise – yes.”

  “And if they both have a family name?”

  “On the off-chance that one of the Gustalis and Kaseras were both on their first day and assigned to the same army group then the Gustali would have seniority because his father is the governor. Then the higher up the chain of command you go the more you can overrule because of who your parents are. I believe the lowest rank an emperor’s child has joined the army is as a commander. We have seven new commanders as of last year because of Markolo. One of them is twelve years old. You might’ve heard of her.”

  “No, that managed to slip my ears.”

  “I think she has her own fleet as well.”

  “Are the other three paths to seniority this complicated?”

  “Pretty much. It’s all basically: who your parents are, where you were born, where you trained, and how old you are. The order of priority among those four depends on who’s arguing. And that doesn’t take into account if you are a citizen or not.”

  “Why not just have one path instead of four?”

  “Because that would make sense. But this is the Isparian Army. We don’t want things to make sense because things that make sense get voted out by the senate and things that don’t make sense get passed all the time.”

  “Does the cavalry have seniority over the rest of the troops?”

  “Not automatically, no, but the officers running the show are usually cavalry and it’s drilled into our heads that everyone under their command is there to support them. It’s something of an unspoken rule that all members of the cavalry can relay orders to the rest of the ground units because they are acting on behalf of their commander.”

  “So how does Jarmella have seniority?”

  “She’s the oldest.”

  “She’s twenty.”

  “She’s the oldest among us. There are plenty of members of the vanguard back in Erast who are thirty and older.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed that a staggering number of you here are unmarried and don’t have children.”

  “It’s not gone unnoticed by us as well, sir. An off the books mission into enemy territory. But the general asked us to go so we went.”

  “When all of the dust was settling in Faersrock, were you checking each other’s birthdays to see who was in charge?”

  “No. Jarmella also studied in Tyrest – which is a big deal among mages. Adalyn studied there as well, but the main thing for Jarmella is that she shook the governor’s hand once.”

  “Why would that matter?”

  “Because just about everyone here would give their left arm to shake the governor’s hand. He singled her out because he saw something in her.”

  I ambled along, deciding to keep some of the disappointing truths about the governor and his family to myself.

  Wilbur checked over his shoulder. Dropped into a whisper. “Sir, everything I just said was absolutely true …”

  “If you’re not willing to say this to Jarmella’s face then you shouldn’t say it to mine.”

  “I … feel that I should.”

  “I don’t like talk of mutiny, private.”

  “Neither do I, sir. Absolutely not. This is not mutiny. I would just like to point out …”

  “No.”

  “That you hold rank within Miss Kasera Lavarta’s inner circle, similar to Zara.”

  “Zara is army. I’m not.”

  “True, but …”

  “If the only thing I have going for me is age and my former status as primo delta for a mercenary company then it should be painfully obvious to see why Jarmella is in charge of the vanguard.”

  “Oh, no question about that sir. Jarmella is in charge of the vanguard.”

  An annoying itch started to creep into my soul. “So what’s the problem?”

  “The lieutenant made it very clear to us that if this went well it was a diplomatic mission. If it went badly it was off the books completely. Needless to say, it’s gone badly. Officially we are not authorized to be here so the truth is we fall into one of two categories: either we are absent without leave from Erast – which means if caught we will be stripped of rank, imprisoned for the remainder of our service, and whipped to within an inch of our lives, depending on the mood of the judge court martialing us – or we are here as private contractors.”

  Honestly, I missed talking to our northern guide. We had exchanged names and nothing else.

  “Sir?”

  “Feel free to take this the wrong way but I’m going to ignore you for a while.”

  “
Yes sir, it’s just that the only way this works out for us is if it was a mercenary-like contract all along, that all the people behind us are technically still training in Galinnia, that we were never kidnapped and never here, and that the ones who are here are in fact mercenaries. And as the highest ranking mercenary among us …”

  “No.”

  “Sir, you might find that when we return to Anglaterra this thing was a mercenary contract all along. It might be the only way the general can wash his hands of this mess.”

  I stopped. Stared into the surprised eyes of the nineteen year old Wilbur. “Embedding an outsider into a military team is one thing, but putting them in charge without knowing how to reel them in is like giving an arsonist a pet dragon. Is that really what you want?”

  He mustered up an awful lot of courage to speak back at me. “I don’t want to be left behind like Berik. None of us do. Jarmella is why we left him and yesterday she gave the order to leave Loken behind as well. If it wasn’t for you we wouldn’t be going to help them.”

  “Do me a favor. Tell everyone in the vanguard that if any of you assholes raise your sword against Jarmella I’m going to hack off one of your legs and feed it to Saskia.” I gave one final glare to Wilbur. “Don’t test me like this again.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Saskia shrieked, a jittering howl to the night as the darkness took her soul. She collapsed back, seizing and thrashing, her spine arching up while her wrists fought against the restraints. I had never seen a transformation before. I had always expected it to be a gentler affair, a simple stepping stone away from life, but this … this screamed at us all. A guttural snarl shifted from one note to another as Saskia’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, moving independently of each other through rapid blinking. The demon was settling in, making itself at home. The smell from her decaying mouth overwhelmed me, my eyes watering and the taste of bile creeping up my throat.

  Then, somewhere in the darkness, another creature answered her.

  We froze. The northerners as well. All reached for our weapons.

  Saskia tossed from side to side, delirious and unaware of anything around her. She cried out again, her screams twisting around each other, overlapping in a dissonant cacophony of raw hatred and rage.