by AB Bradley
Iron’s eyes widened. No small part of him wanted to see the demons of the Second Sun firsthand. Then again, he’d wanted to see the wolves and look where that got him. By the way Sander spoke of them, the wolves were the preferable enemies.
“They’re really coming here?”
“They’ll be here any day now, led by the king’s hound, Caspran Bilshabel.” She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Wasn’t sure what they were searching for when I heard the news, but now I think I know it’s not what they hunt, but who. I’m here for a weapon to stop the king, but I guess I might’ve picked up a couple passengers instead. The Six work in mysterious ways.”
“You can’t tell anyone. Please, don’t raise the alarm.”
“I’m no friend of that slime heretic. In fact, you can count yourself lucky you found me. Tell your babysitter that you’ve secured a way to open sea, but if you want safe passage, we’ve got to go now.”
“But the guards—”
“Aren’t priests of the Loyal Father. They won’t be walking on water to catch us, and I swear on the Six there’s no vessel on the Sapphire Sea faster than my Scarlet Widowmaker, certainly not one of those Skaard rafts they try and pass for seafaring vessels.”
“Who is this?” Sander demanded. Iron hadn’t notice his master approach. Now the man stood behind her, clutching a mug dripping foam on the floor.
“Her name’s Ayska Masrari. She says the alp are coming. She says unless we go with her, we’re dead men. She also called you my babysitter. I don’t like her very much.”
Sander cocked a grin and faced the woman. “Looks like we’ve found ourselves a pretty little gem here, haven’t we? You’ll have to beg a thousand of my pardons, but there’s no way in all the hells we’d ever prance right into your arms. Your arrival’s just a little too convenient, don’t you think?”
Ayska opened her mouth to speak as Iron stood and did the same, hoping to cut her off before she had a chance to object. The inn door crashed open, flooding the warm room with the harsh white of a wintry sky. Three looming figures blotted quickly blotted that light. Their shadows stretched over the floor. They muscled through the doorway, each footfall heavy as a tree limb falling to the ground.
Iron couldn’t make them out, but his heart dropped a few inches when they spotted Iron’s little group and set their eyes on them.
“Oh, shit,” Ayska and Sander said at once.
The leader cracked his knuckles and growled. “Look, boys, we’ve found the old Rat of Ormhild. Looks like he’s hooked up with that Rabwian whore who cheated me.”
“Still falling for the same tricks, Elof?” Sander quipped. “How’s your wife?”
Elof growled. He whipped a two-handed hammer from his coat, and the inn’s occupants scattered toward any opening they could find.
“Get your sword, Iron,” Sander ordered. Iron’s hand went to his hilt, and in a flash, steel kissed the chill air.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Death on the Horizon
“Aw, c’mon Elof, it was just a little joke.” Sander smiled, but his grip tightened on his pommel, his knuckles flushing white.
Iron kept his own weapon at the ready, blade pointed toward their assailants. Elof was an ox of a man with shoulders wider than Iron had ever seen. His barrel chest heaved beneath his heavy furs, and above a fiery beard his eyes simmered with rage.
Ayska stalked forward, hand raking through her rope-like braids. “Elof, I was just about to get your money. These fine gentlemen were going to pay up front for their transport and—”
Iron cleared his throat. “Pay? You never—”
“Agreed to your offer?” Ayska turned and shot an angry glare.
Elof moved frighteningly quickly for a man his size. His thick, hairy fingers wrapped around Ayska’s wrist fast as a serpent striking a mouse. The man snatched her off the ground and dangled her like a little doll. With his other hand, he used his hammer to lift her chin until their eyes met. “I didn’t come here for your payment. I came here for them. When the birds arrived with the bounty and description, I knew exactly where to go. Sander haunts this place like a blasted ghost. It was almost too easy to guess where he’d be.”
The man flung Ayska onto a table. She hit hard and rolled, her jacket catching on a corner and tearing a sleeve clean off. Like a trained acrobat, she caught her balance and flipped to her feet, quickly throwing her furs to the floor, where they thunked and threw up a cloud of dust.
A red leather vest trimmed with black covered her chest. She wore tight breeches and knee-high boots similarly styled to her vest. At her side swung two short swords curved like crescent moons. Around her neck hung a braided gold necklace dotted with polished fangs and exotic feathers.
Iron’s gaze drifted to her arms, and his eyes shot wide. Brutal brands lined the outside of each arm from her wrists to her shoulders. Many books spoke of those designs. Slavers marked their property with them each time that property changed owners. Judging by the many snaking their way up her arms, she never kept a master long.
Elof looked Ayska up and down. She perched on the on the tabletop, dark eyes narrowed but otherwise calm and steady. The man waved at her arm with the head of his hammer and hooted, turning to one of his companions. “A slave? And not a good one by the scars, I see. I have to wonder what a pretty little flower like you had to do to get sold so often.”
“If you’re curious, I can show you.” Ayska winked and licked her lips. “It won’t take long.”
Elof tapped the hammer’s head against his open palm. “Is that a challenge, little Rabwian?”
“Leave her alone.” Iron lurched toward Elof, but Sander’s strong grip ripped him back.
“It’s not your fight.”
“We should protect her.”
“I don’t need protection,” Ayska snapped. “Or are you forgetting why this sack of rotted cow shit named Elof came to the tavern in the first place?”
Iron recoiled as his brows knitted together. He only wanted to help her. It was the right thing to do. Now not only did he find Ayska irritating, but infuriating as well.
He wrested himself from Sander’s grip. “Let me go.”
“Remember, there’s a fine line between arrogance and bravery.”
“There’s a fine line between caution and cowardice, too.”
Sander smirked but didn’t respond. Because he knows I’m right, Iron thought.
Elof snorted and swung his hammer onto his shoulder. “We’ll get to you in a second, boy. First, let me take care of this slave. Here, pretty, pretty girl. You miss your chains? Maybe I can find some for you. Elof will treat you right nice, he will.”
Elof’s two friends kept their eyes on Iron and Sander while the brute approached Ayska. Even elevated on the table, the man dwarfed her. If that frightened her, she didn’t show it. She narrowed her eyes at him and smiled. “You should’ve taken payment. I was trying to do the right thing.”
“Oh, I’ll take payment, don’t you worry.”
In one great stride, he lunged at her and swung his hammer.
Ayska back flipped over the weapon. Two silver flashes glinted like falling stars as she pulled her curved blades out.
She landed on the balls of her feet. Elof’s heavy hammer hadn’t yet finished its swing. Too late, his eyes registered his error.
Ayska slashed a blade across his chest. The inn stilled as the man crashed to his knees. Ayska hopped onto the floor, spreading her arms wide, one of the swords dripping blood onto the floorboards. Elof’s two friends traded glances and shuffled back.
“I know your story, Elof,” she said, calm and cool as the trailing edge of a light snowfall. “I know you trade in flesh. I know you sailed south, and in the chaos following the Godfall, you followed the serpents from town to town, enslaving innocents too weak to fight for themselves. Tell me, do you recall a man named Thip?”
Elof clutched the wound on his chest as his scowl shot poison at the woman. “Good for nothing waste o
f flesh. I sold him—”
“For three gold. I know. He told me.” Ayska pursed her lips. “Elof Ness son of Markus Ness, for your crimes of chaining free folk, I judge you. In the name of the Loyal Father and as his priestess on Urum, receive your punishment and kindly pick a hell to burn in.”
The man looked to Ayska, a wild terror and adrenaline-soaked fear in his eyes. “The Six are gone. You can’t—”
Another flash of silver glinted in the lamplight as her blade passed across his throat. The ox of a man named Elof gurgled, choking on the blood spurting up his throat. His body thudded on the floor, scarlet seeping into the wood beneath him.
Ayska bounded over the corpse and landed before his two companions. “Which one of you is next?”
The men traded glances. Combined, they probably weighed four times as much as her. They practically trampled one another in their terrified flight from the Dancing Harpoon.
“Maybe she’s not so bad after all,” Sander said. He looked approvingly at Ayska, but kept his weapon at the ready. “She’s quite the vengeful spirit, isn’t she? Sinner, that was quite a show.”
She turned to them and sheathed her odd weapons. “We don’t have long before they bring Ormhild down on us. Do you two want to escape this cursed block of ice or not?”
Iron avoided looking at the corpse, wondering if another angry word to Ayska could have put him in a similar state. He tried not to think about the blood and gore. He’d seen his share of it whenever they skinned a larger animal after a hunt, but a human…the image of the man’s throat split wide curdled his stomach. At least he could rest easy knowing Sander would never agree to go with such a woman.
“What a splendid idea. Do you have saltwater gin?” Sander headed toward Ayska, glancing over his shoulder at Iron. “Come on. I thought you were chomping at the bit to get a good taste of the open sea?”
“Wait, what? But she’s a—”
“Sign. We have to trust the Six when they send us an omen, and I can think of no better omen than a priestess of the Loyal Father dropping in our laps. Don’t worry,” he said, his voice growing louder, “don’t get yourself into a tizzy because you think she’s pretty.” He turned to Ayska and motioned for the open door. “Iron hasn’t seen many women in his time. He was bound to get a little flustered around the first pretty one he saw.”
Iron didn’t know if he wanted to sheath his sword in the scabbard or sheath it in Sander. He calmed his nerves and sheathed the weapon somewhat slowly, trailing them both from the Dancing Harpoon. “I don’t like her like that. I think she’s actually kind of annoying. And unpredictable. And violent. Gods, so violent.”
Ayska looked over her shoulder and smiled. Passing citizens gasped at her bloodstained clothes and cleared a path for them like ice cut by molten steel.
They reached a long dock, and Ayska bounded onto it. Sander and Iron followed, picking up their pace as she increased hers. They passed several Skaard ships manned by sailors who arched thick brows at the three strangers.
Gull dung splatted on Iron’s boot, staining the leather with a few drops of foul white. He tried wiping it off, but his master yanked him along. “Get it later. We’ve got to get out of here. Look.” Sander motioned back toward the glacier.
Iron glanced behind him. Sailors aboard the Skaard ships filtered to the dock, slow and cumbersome like giants carved from granite pulling themselves from a cliff face. They had darkness in their eyes.
Farther down the beach, the distant clang of the muffled alarm bells echoed down the glacier, their origin the the ramp leading to the crevasse.
“They’re coming,” Iron said. “Elof said he didn’t come for Ayska. He came for us. What did he mean by the birds carrying the message?”
“It’s not uncommon to use swifts to carry messages quickly and over long distances. I didn’t think they could cross the Sapphire Sea without stopping though. Perhaps some magic aids them, which means we might have an alp on our trail.”
“Not necessarily. Sol’s ships could have sent them after they found us.”
Sander grunted his agreement. “Always looking for the logic.”
His master’s agreement didn’t bring Iron any comfort. The man’s sharp tongue and quick wit often went into hiding when something concerned him.
“We’ll make it out of this, you know,” Iron said.
“You’re certain?” Sander arched a brow and eyed Iron without turning his head. “That’s a bold prediction considering our luck as of late, not to mention not very logical.”
“It’s more logical than you think. I’ve got faith in the Six, and I know my master. Haven’t you heard? There’s no one on Urum more skilled than he is.”
Iron cast a smile at the man. Sander grinned and slapped him on the back. “You’re a good kid. Sinner knows I’m somehow never able to forget that no matter how much you crawl under my skin.”
Ayska finally reached her ship, bounding up the ramp and onto the deck. Her vessel had three triangular sails, the largest being first and closest to the prow, the smallest being last and stern. It had a pointed prow carved into a mermaid. She wore a necklace of skulls with lilies blooming from the sockets. Her playful grin said she’d have a little fun before she killed the sailors in her waters.
Iron marveled at the craftsmanship. Great detail had been taken in every aspect of the ship. From the scarlet hull to the railing carved like an undulating sea serpent, to the rudder shaped like the fin of some deep sea behemoth, everything about the Scarlet Widow betrayed the love the craftsmen who built her and the crew who maintained her.
Several sailors saluted Ayska as she boarded. They glanced more warily at Iron and Sander, but at least they acknowledged their presence with a dash more kindness than naked suspicion. Waves gently rocked the boat; rocking Iron’s stomach in an unpleasant way. He didn’t know if he would like sailing after all. He’d much prefer swimming in water than trying to balance on it.
Ayska shouted commands to unmoor the ship and ordered crew members to withdraw the ramp leading to the dock. No one hesitated. No one questioned. They did as she told them, a few whistling foreign tunes as they untied ropes and readied sails.
“So our new friend is the captain,” Sander mused. He rubbed his grizzled chin, his scar warping with his grin. The smile quickly vanished. “Still, we shouldn’t trust her. I think I might have let that pretty figure go to my head.”
“She said she came hunting for a weapon to stop Sol.”
“Then at least we have common enemies. Still, keep your guard up. I’ll try to find out more since you two apparently aren’t getting off on the right foot.”
With a lurch and a splash of water against the dock, the Scarlet Widowmaker pulled from Ormhild’s harbor. Iron raced to the prow and grabbed a thick rope for support as the ship slowly angled from the walkway. On shore, a troop of ten men pointed and shouted, their steady walk tumbling into a run. They undid worn hammers and dented maces. Their leader had a bell. He rang it, and the familiar alarm echoed off the lapping waves.
They clustered at the dock and shouted obscenities at the crew, but by the time they reached the ship, the Widowmaker had pulled too far into the water for them to stop it.
Iron couldn’t help but smile despite his stomach lurching like its own brutal sea in a storm. He’d made it out of Ormhild and out of Skaard. Things could only get better from here.
“Cap’n!” a man shouted. He swung from the tall mast and landed on deck. Two scars formed an X across his face and drew attention to his fiercely blue eyes. Like Ayska, he bore scars on his arms marking him as property of another. He held a crooked spyglass, and his skin bore the deep rich kiss of long days beneath an unbroken sun.
Ayska turned from another crewman and faced him. “What have you seen, Vigal?”
“Fleet ahead, making ‘fa shore. Six of them by my count. Massive caravel at full speed. They’re in a rush.” He leaned closer to her, his voice almost too low to hear. “They fly his banner. He’s h
ere. He’s come.”
Some of the color drained from her face, and a glimmer of worry sparkled in her dark eyes. It left quickly as she flattened her lips and nodded. “Is there any way around them?”
“Seas’re too shallow, Cap’n. We’ll have to pass right through ‘em. They might, ah, they might board.”
“The birds!” Another portly fellow with caterpillar fingers pointed beyond the prow. Iron followed the man’s finger. Blots of dark spots appeared over the flat horizon.
Ayska cursed and sprinted to Iron. “Get below deck, both of you. I didn’t think they’d bring him, but come he has. You must be something precious to that heretic king.”
He shot a worried glance to Sander. The man focused on the horizon, his hooded gaze nailed to the distant ships and tumultuous sky. “Why should we trust you? You could just turn us over. You’re clearly pirates, after all.”
“If I wanted, I would’ve already put you in chains. Now get down there, both of you. If Caspran’s birds see you, we’re all dead, and it won’t be a quick death. Caspran never gives the mercy of a quick death.” For the first time that day, he heard the terror edging her voice, the fear laced with panic and anxiety.
“Caspran?” Sander’s attention whipped over to them. “Brother Caspran? Gods, you did mention him in the inn. Sinner save us, Iron, get below deck.” Without waiting for Ayska’s permission, Sander grabbed Iron and hauled him to the door.
“Who is this Caspran?” Iron asked. He looked to the horizon. The trembling sky had become a wave of motion, like a dark cloud writhing in invisible binds. He peered more closely and saw that it wasn’t a single cloud, but an enormous one made up of tiny specks. It approached at terrifying speed.
Sander kicked the door open. “No time, boy. Let’s go.”
They bounded down creaky steps. Ocean waves combined with the ship’s gathering speed did little to calm Iron’s stomach and nothing to calm his nerves. They spilled into a room full of hammocks and lit by a few paltry oil lanterns. Barrels of food and bags of grains clustered in mounds against the wall.
