The Bloodheart

by Steve Rzasa

  To his credit, he does not argue as some of these dolts would. “We would have seen Sleet had she gone back. The weather was clear and the horizon far the whole journey.”

  “Exactly. Which leads me to believe she either took an incredibly circuitous route back—unlikely—or she went elsewhere after leaving here initially.” I pace. And pace. Electricity snaps in my fingers. I want to incinerate something, badly. With a growl I let the lightning fly in a burst that chars a patch of grass as big as a man’s head.

  Bowen Cord’s head.

  “We make sail for Bristol-on-Sky. Waste no time there. Hunt down anyone who knows Cord and find out where he would make for sanctuary. He must know dozens of ports with dozens of people who would shelter him, either out of friendship or for silver.”

  “Yes, sire.” The lieutenant marches off to enforce my orders.

  “Warn the men,” I say. “This is no mere tradesman we follow.”

  He’s confused and stops. “Sire?”

  Sigh. A spark of intellect, then that moronic vacant stare. I gaze off to the horizon, and rub my metal arm. A jolt courses through my body. The power is invigorating. Wipes away the fear and doubt of moments ago, and banishes the golem from my thoughts. “It seems our Bowen Cord is an ice-summoner.”

  THE TWELFTH CHAPTER

  ~

  Bowen

  Rest eluded me last night.

  True, I filled my belly with the mutton and greens for supper in Jasna Góra’s dining hall, and washed it all down with a second goblet of wine. That should have been enough to ensure sound slumber. The bed was passably comfortable, far better than my bunk aboard Sleet. The fire stayed warm even when it died to embers.

  All those things did nothing to banish the gnashing shadows that invaded my dreams.

  Shapeless, nameless creatures. They had blood on their claws. Gridley’s blood. Niall’s. Ariya’s. Luc’s. They held the Bloodheart.

  My weapons could not hurt them. All I had was the ice.

  But it turned on me, blasted me into a frozen statue. The shadows converged, their sounds hideous as a predator tearing flesh and crunching bone.

  They smashed me to pieces.

  Even now, standing upon Sleet’s wheel deck as we cast off from Jasna Góra, I cannot shake the horror. My wave to Evan and his acolytes is friendly enough. There’s worry etched on his face, though. His words from this morning ring in my ears: “Journey south if you must, but you won’t find the Father’s Tear there. It is known among the spires of the Atlan Reach. Find your way to Cloud Reef. That is all I can say to help. Godspeed, Bowen.”

  We’ve supplied Sleet well, and made sure the cracks in the aethershard are not too deep. She banks gracefully out over the plains, where the last of the morning mist burns off in the sun’s rays.

  “Captain?”

  Ariya stands before me, on the other side of the wheel. She frowns, and crosses her arms. Her boot tip taps a steady rhythm on the deck.

  “What is it?”

  “I asked you, what is our course? You would not tell me or Niall. Frankly I find it all disturbing. My responsibilities include preparing the ship’s rigging for whatever climes we may visit, and if I do not know where we are going I cannot fulfill those duties.”

  “A thousand apologies.” I smile. “We’re going to Zadar.”

  “Did you say Zadar?” Niall bounds up the deck. He’s positively beaming. This may have more to do with the salted pork he’s gnawing off a bone than my news. “Well! Doesn’t that just make the day.”

  “It will be pleasant to visit Zadar again,” Ariya says.

  “Pleasant? Try invigorating!” Niall downs the rest of the pork and belches with such vigor Gridley barks. He presses his hands to his chest and sighs. “How you wound me, my lady, with your lack of vision. Warm sand, warm water, warm women…”

  Ariya elbows him. Niall guffaws and scoots away. I swear the man is ready for cartwheels across the deck.

  “So it is to be Zadar for dissolute times, is it?” Ariya frowns.

  “It’s not all bad. Niall will be in a decent mood for weeks afterward.” I steer us onto a southerly course, tacking with the winds out of the north-northwest.

  “Hmm. So it is. And no doubt you’ll be attending to some commerce there, as well.” Ariya flies up to the rigging.

  I stare after her, and shake my head. She has a way with discerning my thoughts, that one. Knows that Zadar has the best contacts for selling rare items of value.

  And…other benefits. Such as Vesna.

  Yet I cannot bring myself to rid Evan’s words from my mind. Unite the relics. Bring the light against darkness.

  Sleet rocks. My body compensates and rolls with the turbulence. Gridley barks. Mad hound that he is, I believe he enjoys rough air.

  Must banish those annoying thoughts of do-gooding from my mind and enjoy this trip.

  ~

  We’re a day out from Jasna Góra and the weather is turning dark as a crow’s wings to the southeast. Thunder cracks. I scowl. There’s no storm clouds nearby. Only the long wall of gray sky. That sound is too near, and too abbreviated. No lightning, either.

  “Ship ahoy!” Niall has the spyglass. He points to starboard.

  I see it now. A sleek hull drops down from behind a pack of puffy white clouds. It carries no markings, and has muddy brown sails. A single red flag flutters from the mast. “Can you make the symbol on their banner?”

  Niall squints. “White skull and white blade in its mouth.”

  Corsairs.

  They’re moving too fast. No chance for us to evade, not at this distance and not with us working astride the wind. Thunder cracks again, and this time I see the puff of smoke from our pursuer. The sound is clearer now. Carronade.

  The ball whistles across our bow. It’s a fine feat of marksmanship for this range.

  “I’ll wager you’re wishing you’d listened to your wise and dashing first mate when he’d told you to spend some gold for a cannon or two on Sleet.” Niall ducks below retrieves his musket, plus a pair of wheellock pistols. He passes me mine and tucks the second into his belt. He loads the musket without looking, his eyes fixed on the ship approaching on the horizon.

  “Pass me the glass.” Niall tosses it my direction and I snatch it from the air, my right hand steady on the alter-wheel. I sweep the spyglass across our visitors. They’re gaining rapidly. No surprise, given they have the wind at their backs. There are ten men aboard whom I can see, but there may be more. Corsairs run with odd numbers. Black silhouettes crawl across the rigging, blades and guns in evidence.

  “Hold fire, Niall. Let’s not invite a broadside. I count six guns.”

  “Oh, I’d not dream of it. Unless, of course, I had a cannon.” He holds the musket ready, a gleam of anger in his eyes.

  “We didn’t have enough silver or gold to outfit ourselves with cannon. And if we did, we’d not be as fast with that extra weight.”

  “You be sure to tell the corsairs that.”

  Gridley’s hair rises on his neck. He snarls.

  “Steady, boy.” I pat him. “Lay low until I need you most—when they board.”

  He glances at me with a sublimely disgusted expression, saying, Of course I will.

  Luc joins us. The ship is close enough now I can hear jeers echoing across the distance. He shudders.

  “What is it?” I keep Sleet on a steady course. No need for sudden moves on our part.

  “They yelled like that. The corsairs who burned my house. Yelling. And screaming.” Luc stares at the ship. It’s a cold, hard expression I’ve not seen from him before.

  Not for the first time do I wrestle with questions for which I have no answers: Why did soulmages, legendary in their power and rumored to inspire fear in kings, fall to mere corsairs? They could have defied the prohibition on the use of their vaunted power, when it came down to defending their kin. Something prevented them from doing so. It defies all common sense.

  “Father died quietly. Stabbed. T
here was blood all over the dirt.” Luc scuffs his boot on the deck.

  “I’m sorry his powers didn’t protect him.” The words have more snap than I intended and fill me with regret as soon as they fly.

  Luc locks his gaze with mine. “Father said it wasn’t his decision; it was time to leave. He kept the Bloodheart safe, but it couldn’t stay there forever. They wanted it.”

  “The corsairs?”

  He touches my hand. Frost forms between our fingers. I gasp, pull from his grip. He holds his hand up to the sun. Warmth melts the ice.

  “No. People like you. Father foresaw it.” Luc kneels and pets Gridley.

  I stare at him, uncomprehending.

  “Ahoy!” The voice is rough like rocks tumbling down Pauper’s Canyon. “Name your vessel and your cargo!”

  “Cutter Sleet, day’s sail from Jasna Góra! No cargo to speak of save foodstuffs.” I do not mention the platinum relic endowed with strange powers.

  The man speaking is tall, burly, and missing an arm. It doesn’t seem to hinder his command as he berates his crew. His clothes are a gaudy mix of green silks, burgundy leather and black cloth. He’s shaved bald and tattooed with swirling black tattoos that mimic sea beasts. Four gold rings glitter on both ears.

  “I’m called Barabos, and I think we’ll have ourselves aboard for a look see. And maybe help ourselves to your fine ship.”

  “I think you’ll bleed aplenty if you try!” Niall levels his musket. We’re fifty yards apart at this point and I know he won’t miss.

  Four muskets aim back, from the deck and the rigging. The ship angles to bring her port side along us. Three cannon face us with black maws.

  “No need to cause damage to flesh or hull, red hair.” Barabos laughs. His teeth are foul as goblin fangs. “You’ve a feisty hand there, Captain. Just the two of you?”

  I smile back. “Niall and myself, and this boy.” I pat Luc on the shoulder. Gridley, bless him, slinks along behind the low roof of the aft cabin.

  Luc glances up at me and whispers, “Ariya is not—”

  “Shall we maintain our course for you?” I overpower Luc’s question with my response to the corsairs, matching their volume.

  “Stay steady and we’ll be along. Have some drink prepared!” The corsairs respond to their captain’s ribaldry with raucous laughter, and strange cackling. Green-skinned, hunchbacked creatures lurk about the corsair decks. Goblins.

  Niall’s snarl rumbles across to me. Patience, old friend. Patience.

  The corsairs send three lines across with grapples. Metal hooks dig into the rail and fasten tight. They heave and pull. We’re dragged slowly in until the ships are twenty feet apart.

  A shadow flicks over the deck. I glance up. Nothing. Have the corsairs noticed? No, far too involved donning excessive weaponry. They walk the ropes without a care, as if they were walking the edge of a dock on a calm bay.

  My hand rests on the stock of my pistol. Now would be excellent, Ariya.

  The shadow returns, swooping among the sails. A blur of white wings and blond hair whisks between the corsairs. Metal flashes, and one of the ropes goes limp, snapped in two. A trio of goblins tumble through the clouds. Their hideous screams echo on and on.

  The rest shout in alarm. Five corsairs make it onto Sleet. Another pulls himself back onto the deck of the corsair ship. Three more men and three goblins burst out of the hatch at the center of the hull onto the deck.

  Niall’s musket thunders. A corsair falls in mid-charge, his sword clattering on the rail. Niall whips out his pistol and fires, misses. Two goblins lash at him with their swords, chattering in a strange tongue and shrieking challenges. He’s fast with his blade and parries them both, even as he jumps back onto coil of rope.

  The other corsairs come for me.

  I duck behind the wheel. A musket ball shatters one of the hand grips, spraying wood splinters. I level the gun on my arm and fire. Smoke obscures my vision but I hear the impact, the grunt of surprise, the thump of a man’s body as it slides to the deck. A big brown-skinned brute with curly black hair lies still.

  Niall’s blade clangs and clashes against its opponents.

  The other corsair is a goblin with gnarled mossy green skin and squinting yellow eyes. He’s on me in a wink. I dodge a blow from his scimitar and pull my falchion from its scabbard. The blades crash against each other. He’s good, this one. His screeches rake at my mind, distracting me from an effective offense. We parry and thrust, dodge and strike, lash and block with each other for an eternity. It could decidedly become a draw, and he has more muscle than I.

  The ice is there, freezing my palms. No. I will not let it free again. I trust two things more: my blade, and Gridley.

  I whistle sharp.

  Gridley leaps from his hiding place. He tears at the corsair’s arm, and lunges aside when the panicky goblin swipes at him.

  It’s distraction enough for me to press my attack. Thrust. He parries. He lashes wildly and I duck the blade, the wind brushing my hair as it sails overhead, and I sink to my knees. Stab up with the blade. Twist.

  His eyes go wide, and a guttural cry crackles from his throat. Black ichor oozes around my blade. He looks right through me as his body sinks down.

  Niall’s shout grows into a roar. He’s transformed. Claws shred the shirt of the corsair nearest him, black blood spatters on red fur. Niall tosses the goblin over his head as easily as a child throws away a toy with which he’s become bored. The corsair hurtles soundlessly beyond the ship’s rail.

  The remaining attacker takes advantage of the loss of his comrade and puts a cut across Niall’s shoulder. His outrage is louder than the cannon fire. He sinks his teeth into the goblin’s arm and yanks him around so hard his body leaves the deck. His backside slams into the forward mast, three feet up in the air.

  Niall impales him with his sword.

  Shouts from the corsair ship draw my attention. Ariya spirals between their masts, slashing at the crew. One man goes down in a burst of crimson.

  More billow onto the deck. Sky’s edge, how many crew have they?

  Wind tousles my hair and my cloak. It’s shifted direction. South.

  “Ariya!” I shout. “The lines! Cut them!”

  She banks right and zooms along between the ships. Two cuts, and the last two ropes binding our vessels fall away.

  “Hold fast!” I crank both wheels until my arms burn from the strain. Sleet rises like an eagle, her sails billowing as they catch the wind.

  Ariya alights on the deck. “Niall is hurt,” she says.

  “Stand down, mother hen.” He shrinks back to the shape of a man. The slash is not as deep as I first assumed. He tears off his sleeve and sets to binding it.

  “We have a moment or two before they give chase,” Ariya says. “Can we outrace them?”

  “We only have to get out of range of their cannon, albeit temporarily. I can manage easily enough.” Indeed, we’ve already put on considerable distance.

  “And then? Would you like me to trade musket fire with cannon balls?” Niall’s griping, but I suspect it has more to do with his wound than our predicament.

  “Not at all. We’ll lose them. In there.” I point.

  The storm clouds are ahead.

  THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER

  ~

  The wind picks up.

  I dive Sleet into the closest cloud bank. White cottony wisps enshroud us. They thicken and darken as we head deeper into the storm front, until they are charcoal gray.

  “Visibility is poor.” Ariya stands on the rail to my right, bracing herself on the rigging. She leans far over the side, eyes scanning the horizon—or lack thereof.

  “Thanks much for stating the obvious.” Niall prowls the deck, his musket propped on his shoulder. Blood soaks the cloth tied around his wound, but he doesn’t complain of pain. “We can’t see more than a quarter mile ahead or aft in here.”

  “It is bad, but it’s going to be worse.” I glance behind us. No sign of our purs
uers, yet.

  “So we’ll only be able to see the ends of our noses, then?”

  I shake my head. “Look.”

  Niall turns. Swears.

  Mountain peaks rise at us from the clouds ahead, great jagged peaks of gray and brown sprinkled with deep green trees. More daunting are the islets floating above, half-concealed in the mists, waiting for us. Together they are a mouth full of serrated fangs.

  Rain starts as a drizzle and before long becomes a downpour. Wind blows at an angle, making the drops cascade across a deck already slick with water. I hold fast to the ship’s wheels. The sails are still taut, full with wind, and this new current shows no indication of slackening.

  Ariya spreads her wings. The feathers ripple against the wind. “I make our speed twenty five knots.”

  “A fine velocity.” My hands ache from the effort to keep us on course. The knuckles are as white as the clouds we first encountered. We pass under the first islet. You’ve not truly sailed the skies until you’ve gone underneath a floating island a thousand feet wide and weighing tens of thousands of tons. My heart refuses to slow.

  “Not fast enough.” Niall’s at the stern. “Here they come.”

  True enough. The corsairs have entered the clouds. Through curtains of driving rain, I make out their sails shuddering under force of wind and water. My mind churns with options. If I can keep us ahead they won’t get close enough to board; yet, I have no idea how fast they can sail. If I keep us in front of their bow, they cannot use their cannons to give us a nasty broadside.

  “They are fast.” Ariya hefts her crossbow. “I can make a pass, Captain, and thin their ranks.”

  “No. It’s too far off and the weather too foul. I’ll not risk you where we cannot be of help.” A vision of Ariya, crumpled and bleeding, spiraling toward the peaks below us… Inwardly I shudder.

  Sleet slides by a peak only a few hundred feet away. Niall grumbles but I cannot hear the word. I look back again.

  They are gaining.

  Luc appears by the wheels. “Why did you kill those men?”