A War in Crimson Embers

by Alex Marshall

  Only one way to find out. It was a lesson Grandfather had worn his sharp tongue dull trying to impress into Sullen, but it had taken meeting Ji-hyeon and following her brave example to make it stick: sometimes you just had to ruddy well do a thing, instead of hoping you could fret it to death. Instead of putting it off and putting it off and putting it off, the way he had with figuring out the Faceless-Mistress-versus-Zosia problem, and so much else in his life, this time he had to grab the wolf by the horns. Somewhere halfway across the Star Ji-hyeon needed him, was waiting on him to come back to her, and bring Keun-ju along in the bargain … and no god nor devil nor mortal nor monster could stop him.

  But first a quick drink in a local tavern on a warm winter night here in the Crimson Empire, where nobody seemed to know the world was on the very rim of ruin. After all they’d been through of late, everyone deserved one last quiet night before things got very loud indeed.

  Their crew was posted up in the pub, all right, though Nemi must have parked her horned wolf somewhere out in the woods to avoid causing a scene. Or a bigger scene, anyway. Diggelby had dressed up even more than usual for the occasion, which was saying something indeed—his mirrored turban was firing off beams of reflected lamplight every which way, and his black-and-white dashiki matched his corpsepaint. Plant that in any Imperial small-town bar and you’d have yourself a local talking point for weeks to come, and that was without adding on a pierced-up girl with a funky-looking feathered walking stick. Or a gem-eyed Chainite monk in a town that must have been converted at some point only to come clear back around to worshipping a pagan deity what lived in their town square. And topping it all off was a big, sour-mugged Flintlander with war braids hanging down from her horned helmet … not that anyone here knew that those braids and that helm signified a Horned Wolf who was on the hunt and not particular about where her meat came from, so long as it was fresh.

  “They look like the setup for some bad joke,” said Purna as they stood on the porch of the tavern, taking turns peering through a hole in the parchment-paned window. She’d been nervous about going in for some reason, probably regretting hastily spoken words said in anger to the pasha … or regretting words not said at all to Nemi. Burning the beedi Sullen had copped from Hoartrap that morning had finally put her back in her usual good temper, though. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one—a Flintlander, a Chainite, a noble, and a witch walk into a bar.”

  “It’s about to get … sillier,” said Keun-ju, letting out the hit he’d been holding. Croak-voiced from the smoke, he said, “And then a studly wildborn, an Ugrakari tapai, and a dashing Immaculate poet all join them.”

  “Stud … lee?” Sullen tried to parse it through the saam haze. “Like … I got studs on me?”

  “No no, like a—” Keun-ju began, but Purna interrupted, which was something of her specialty.

  “Guys, I’m not a tapai,” she said heavily. “You’re my friends, too, and I can’t lie to my squad anymore. I’m from a merchant family, not a noble one. By the peaks of my homeland, I hope this gets easier.”

  “Doesn’t everybody know that already?” said Keun-ju. “There are only thirty-six tapais, obviously, hence the joke that you’re the … wait, were you actually trying to deceive people? Who could possibly fall for that!”

  “Um …” said Sullen, stubbing the beedi out because obviously none of them needed any more and tucking the roach into his mostly empty bandolier. “I believed it, but for real, I never even heard of a tapai until me and Fa met you, Purna. You always been princely to me, though, and that matters more than who bore you. One of the things I really liked about Ji-hyeon’s cause was the idea of getting rid of all them … distinctions. No more nobles or any of that.”

  “Easy for a princess to say that, especially when people are still doing what she says.” Seeing Keun-ju tense up, Purna hastened to add, “Not a burn on our general, just saying.”

  “Well, just say it inside,” said Sullen. The conversation turning to Ji-hyeon reminded him that while they were all talking trash on a stoop, his beloved was stuck on the Isles with a horde of monsters breathing down her neck. Keun-ju’s beloved, too. One of them, anyway. “We have a single drink, and then we’re out.”

  “Your melon’s gone sour if you think we’re leaving before the barkeep,” said Purna, moving to the owlbatwing doors.

  “I mean it,” said Sullen, the saam making him twitchy instead of relaxed, his heart pounding. “We can celebrate properly with the pasha when we’re all together in Othean and the war’s won. But every round we’re sitting here on our arses is another hour Ji-hyeon and Maroto and the rest of the Cobalt Company are in danger, without us around to pitch in.”

  “It’s cute you think a round takes an hour, too,” said Purna, disappearing inside.

  “Hey, are you all right?” asked Keun-ju, putting his hand on Sullen’s bicep. It was only at the man’s light touch that Sullen realized how tense he was, squeezing his spear fit to breaking. And as if by sorcery, that physical connection sapped all the worry out of Sullen, leaving him high but happy.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” said Sullen, and slyly added, “Be better if you let me under that veil again, if just to see what a handsome fellow I’ve caught.”

  “As a veteran Virtue Guard it takes more than pretty words to compromise my own,” said Keun-ju airily, his fingers on Sullen’s arm doing a light little dance. “How about you buy me a drink?”

  “Ah dang,” said Sullen. “Would if I could, but I keep forgetting about money.”

  “I’ll buy you one, then, and say you owe me something in return,” said Keun-ju, darting up on his tiptoes to give Sullen a peck through his veil. The feel of silk barricading Keun-ju’s lips only inflamed Sullen more, especially now that he knew how sweet they really were, but the boy nodded to the door. “Coming?”

  “It’ll take more than that, but not much,” said Sullen.

  “Sullen of the Frozen Savannahs, was that a dirty joke?”

  “Maybe?” said Sullen wolfishly. “It’s been ages since I had any relief, so maybe not.”

  “Not a bad gag, either, all things considered,” said Keun-ju. “But come along, and none of that in front of your mother.”

  “No, definitely not.” Damn but Keun-ju knew how to quench a fire as fast as he’d kindled it.

  The Pig’s Ear Tavern was far busier than it had been on their first stopover in Black Moth, when there’d only been a few grizzled souls; now there must be near on a hundred, every one of the tree-trunk tables occupied and both the bar at the back and the roaring fireplace thronged. The open room was so thick with woodsmoke, tubq smoke, and saam smoke that it stung Sullen’s eyes, and threading among the coarse crowd he couldn’t help but notice how pungent most of these locals were. Not everyone had time or coin to stop over at the bathhouse, true, but some of them smelled like they’d rolled in offal and rinsed off with cat piss. No longer irritated by the smoke, he kept his nose in the clouds and huffed as much as he could until he reached his friends.

  “Last to arrive, first to buy!” Purna damn near screamed to be heard over the mob. Despite having come in just before them she’d managed to snag a stool and a drink, load a pipe, and plant Nemi on her lap. The witch looked all the taller for sitting on the smaller woman, puffing a long-stemmed pipe of her own. Sullen put his empty hands in the air, but Diggelby tossed him a pouch so heavy it hurt his palm.

  “It was in here all along!” cried the fop, pointing at his turban. “Buy a case of something nice; whatever’s left over we can drink on the road!”

  “Shall I help?” asked Keun-ju, maybe not so inclined to be left alone with this crew. Nemi and Purna were ignoring the others, talking with their faces all in close, and Diggelby was blithely rambling at the stone-eyed monk and Sullen’s stone-faced mother.

  “Ehh, looks like a tight fit at the bar, I can manage,” Sullen said in Keun-ju’s ear. His delicate ear that sang out for a nibbling. Buzzed as Sullen was he almost went for it, but reme
mbering his mother sitting just across the table, decided not to … lest he embarrass Keun-ju, not because he gave a damn what she thought anymore. “But hey, can you hold my spear?”

  Keun-ju said something Sullen didn’t hear, but when the Immaculate winked a big brown eye at Sullen he guessed the gist of it, passing the weapon over with a smile of his own. Then he headed off on a quest as arduous as any Boldstrut had endured—getting service as an Outlander at a busy local watering hole while doped to the gills on wizard saam. And just his luck, between him and the long black bartop was a gang of brutes as hatchet-faced as any Sullen had ever met, and armed to the teeth the lot of them.

  “Make way, make way,” bawled the biggest bruiser of them all as Sullen approached, a Raniputri with extra eyes tattooed all over his face and a braided beard so long he wore it tied around his neck like a noose. Which just went to show you never could tell, because the rest of the heavies all heaved over to one side, the tattooed man offering a warm smile and then turning back to his chums as Sullen slipped between them and the huddle of hunters on the other side.

  Planting his elbows on the buffed ebon bar, Sullen kept Diggelby’s pouch hidden from view in his fist, but when one of the flustered barkeeps came by he gave it a jingle. Back in Thao the pasha had insisted on teaching Sullen all the tricks, and sure enough this got the woman’s attention, but instead of taking his order right away she held up a finger and moved on, only returning a few minutes later.

  “What?” she demanded, eyes bloodshot and short-shorn head lathered in sweat.

  “Case of something nice, please,” he said in Crimson. Or hoped he said, anyway.

  “A case?” she looked incredulous. “No.”

  “Uh, many bottles?” Shit, he had been sure the word was case. “Bottles in box? Cost much, but I pay. Please?”

  She must have taken pity on him, then, because her features softened and she said a few intelligible words and then the Immaculate word for the Immaculate tongue.

  “For sure!” he said in the same, always relieved when he didn’t have to limp along in Crimson. “A case of your finest, uh, anything, if you please, and don’t worry—I’ve got coin in hand.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, no,” said the barkeep. “You might’ve noticed we’re a little busy tonight?”

  “Uhhh … yeah?”

  “So I can’t sell anyone more than a bottle a head. I start selling more and pretty soon the cellar’s empty, and what am I supposed to do when the rest of the regiment comes through, huh? Hope they understand why the only tavern in town is dry and not make sport some other way?”

  “The … the rest of the what now?” Maybe Sullen’s Immaculate wasn’t so good after all, because it sounded like she said …

  “The Eyvindian regiment,” said the barkeep, gesturing at the full house. “These rats might not look so bad just yet, but wait until the rest of the swarm arrives. They’re headed south, obviously, to which I say go north if you can—nastiest army in the Empire. After what Cold Cobalt did to them back in the day I can’t say I’m surprised the survivors decided that honor and fighting fair and all the rest was a fool’s errand, but there’s such a fucking thing as a middle ground. These are the same scumdogs who killed the priest and wrecked the church, oh, eight or nine years ago. A touch unhappy he didn’t have more communion wine to share with the needy. So you can see why I’m reluctant to sell you a case, no?”

  “Uh … yeah?” Sullen really, really wished he hadn’t smoked that beedi. “But … but they’re not wearing any red?”

  “They’re scouts,” said the barkeep, “so they ain’t very well going to call attention to that, are they? But look, you’re the first person who’s said please all night so I wanted to tip you off in case you didn’t know, and now that you do let’s complete our transaction so I can go back to praying these shitbirds don’t raze my place.”

  “Sure, yeah, thanks,” said Sullen woozily. “I’ll just get the bottle, then, thanks.”

  As the exchange was made and Sullen turned around to find himself blocked in by reeking bodies, he indeed began to pick out Imperial trappings underneath the heavy furs and leather capes—an ornamental officer’s dagger here, an ostentatious blackened chain there, shitty tattoos in Crimson script on many a sweaty neck. He was also stuck, surrounded by Imperial scouts he was suddenly very leery about just pushing through lest he get them riled. But just then the big Raniputri guy rescued him a second time, careening in for another drink himself and clearing a hole for Sullen to wiggle through … or so it looked, anyway, but when he went for it the crowd shifted and they were crammed chest to chest in the press.

  “One bottle for your whole table?” the man observed as they did the awkward dance of shuffling in opposite directions. “That can’t even be enough for Purna!”

  “Yeah, well, she’ll have to share for a change,” muttered Sullen, floating free and clear of the Raniputri and oozing further through the mob of what he now knew to be the enemy. He was starting to freak the fuck out, but he just needed to hold it together a little longer, just get the whole crew outside before they were recognized as Cobalts …

  The table came into sight, as did a path through the pack, but as he quickened his pace a git even smaller than Purna stepped backward into his path, and he nearly bowled the wee man over. Sullen caught him by the shoulder before he fell, praise the ancestors. The last thing he fucking needed was to make a scene, and as soon as he saw the apologetic smile on the kid’s face he knew there’d be no trouble here … but then the boy’s features twisted into a hideous grimace. He screamed, shrill and clear as a whistle, eyes bulging out. Sullen couldn’t figure it out, didn’t even recognize the piker until he whipped out a rusty serrated knife and jabbed it straight into Sullen’s gut.

  It didn’t hurt so much as jog his memory, the whole tavern suddenly going quiet, the kid still screaming as he twisted the blade. That brought the pain, Sullen howling even louder than his attacker, and bad as the cramping agony was, the realization that he knew this boy hurt worse. It was the fucking weakbow kid. The Cobalt runt who had accidentally killed Grandfather and then lit out from the plateau above the camp instead of waiting for Sullen to return, the way he’d promised. And now, adding grave injury to that already serious insult, he’d apparently gone and killed Sullen, too.

  CHAPTER

  16

  Might as well be dead,” said Bang, a week out from Jex Toth and still sulking.

  “Fine talk for someone who escaped a fate worse than that,” said Maroto. “And from a place worse than hell to boot.”

  “This is hell.”

  “Well, it might not be perfect but it’s leagues closer to heaven than where we’ve been,” Maroto told her, gesturing out over the view they commanded from the crow’s nest. “First thing you told me when the Tothans brought you all in was the most you’d hoped for was to share a cell with me before we got axed, and now you’ve got one better—a cell with a view, and your frisky first mate ready to take your mind off your woes.”

  “Niki-hyun’s first mate now,” said Bang. “Since Carrig nor none of the rest of the old crew ever turned up.”

  “Quartermaster?”

  “Dong-won.”

  “But that means you need a bosun.”

  “Need a ship to have a bosun,” said Bang.

  “Yeah, what do you call this, then?” Maroto flicked the top of the mast that rose from the center of their little platform.

  “I told you, it’s hell,” said Bang, finally clambering up to look over the railing instead of just using it as a backrest. She didn’t seem to be admiring the dawnlit coastline with its gold-tiled walls and enormous pagodas, nor the fleet of Imperial and Immaculate ships all around them. Instead she leaned forward and spat toward the deck far below, but her missile just smacked in the yards. “Biggest and bestest tub I ever set foot on, and she was mine oh mine for what, an hour?”

  “Tops,” allowed Maroto, sharing his captain’s disappointment but hardly su
rprised by its cause. There had been a hot minute there when it had looked like the Holy See might defer to the authority of the four humans who had returned to the Chainite fleet in place of their pope, but that charade only lasted until they had sailed clear of the Tothan harbor. Considering the horror-struck sailors and anxious cardinals had seen Maroto and his pals disgorged from the steaming interior of the living vessel that had carried them right up beside an Imperial carrack, it was a major blessing they hadn’t been burned as abominations—but when had Bang ever appreciated a blessing, small or large? If not for Maroto’s brilliant, believable performance as an ignorant castaway press-ganged into acting as messenger for the unholy horrors of Jex Toth, the Holy See might have done a lot more than just burn them. Last Maroto checked the Burnished Chain wasn’t big on Cobalt captains, retired or otherwise, and if he’d been found out his allies would have suffered by association.

  Hard to believe those old allegiances still mattered, in a world under threat from a cabal of undying priests and their inhuman army, but maybe once the monsters started their war everything would change. It would have to, if the Star had any chance of survival. Maroto had certainly found it easy to drop the old beef bones once he met the Vex Assembly. It wasn’t that he had forgiven Zosia for refusing to loose Choplicker and save Purna’s life, or Hoartrap for marooning him on Jex Toth, because really now, there’s no pardoning the unpardonable … but after how badly Maroto had fucked the Star to save himself their crimes didn’t just seem smaller, they almost seemed like preemptive justice.