The Bloodheart

by Steve Rzasa

  “I have heard of Captain Cord. He frequents our establishment, and others.” Juric rubs at dirt on the corner of the bar. “What would a man such as you want with a merchant such as he?”

  “He has an item I desire. His Majesty King Octavian III has sent me to safeguard it for the glory of the Crown.”

  She smiles. “An item. You’ll have to be more specific. I deal in items of all kinds, the more exotic the better. Would you care for a drink?”

  I’ll not be misdirected, but… “Rum, please.”

  She returns with an amber glass. The rum is fiery and blessedly strong. “It is a relic from a soulmage coven, stolen by Cord and rightfully property of the Crown. I am given license to retrieve it.”

  “It must be valuable for the king to have sent his man all this way.” Juric crosses her arms.

  “Where is Captain Cord?”

  “Not here. Perhaps you should try the Golden Dog, or the Twin Fangs. He’s known at those watering holes as well.”

  “Come now. I doubt he is at either.”

  She smirks. “How will you know unless you check? Honestly, some men.”

  “My dear lady, I have found neither hide nor hair of his ship.” I drink more rum, and let the cloak slide off my right shoulder. The orb glows. There’s a subtle charge to the air, and she senses it. Her fear is palpable. But it’s gone behind her mask in a mere wink. She hides her emotions well, this one. “I know he was here. It was told to me from reliable sources.”

  “I shall have to take your word.”

  “Let’s be blunt. You’re a woman of commerce, Vesna Juric. I have faith you are willing to transact with me for the relic’s safe return.” Sky’s fire. I can spin lies better than any spider can build a web. The money bag at my belt jingles with my touch. I toss it onto the bar.

  She edges closer. “A transaction? Of what sort?”

  I gesture to the bag with the flagon. “Confirm for me that Bowen Cord was here.”

  Juric does not touch the bag. Her gaze flicks to it and returns to meet mine. “Perhaps.”

  “Now. Did Cord show you the relic?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Tell me if I’m accurate—finely wrought platinum, magnificent carvings, the size of a man’s fist.” I thump one of said fists onto the bar. The coins jump in the bag.

  She brushes a strand of raven hair from her face. Such a practiced look of nonchalance. Shrewd. “It does spark a memory. He always brings such lovely things; I cannot keep straight the ancient from the new. If he did have such a relic of great value he spoke of trading it elsewhere, perhaps in the East.”

  There’s hesitation, hedging in her response. But I’m not done. “You touched the relic and know of its power.”

  It’s a gamble, yes, but pays off when her eyes widen. She can’t hide the emotion there. Something disturbed her greatly. I press home the inquest, stepping forward until our boots scrape. My voice is a hoarse whisper. “Do not lie about such a thing, Vesna. You sensed its power, didn’t you? It’s not a mere bauble. That’s why I must have it, for His Majesty and for the safety of all the lands and all the skies. It does not belong with the likes of Bowen Cord, or that were-fox and bird girl he keeps as pets. One bad storm and it could be lost to the seas and skies forever. Surely you have heard of the dangers pressing against these lands. You know the relic Cord carries must be kept from the wrong hands.”

  She looks away. She longs for Cord, this much the rumors at Bristol-on-Sky told me, and even the most brainless toad amongst my soldiers can see it in the way she says his name, and protects his whereabouts. Yet she is a woman of trade. Juric values silver as much as any cutthroat merchant.

  “Where did Cord go?” I ask.

  “I don’t know the precise destination.”

  “Don’t lie, now. You have merchant ships at your beck and call.”

  Her fingers brush against the bag of coins. “Very well. I do know. But that is business between myself and him, and I’ll not reveal it.”

  Honesty. Refreshing, and irritating enough to send a fresh batch of sparks crawling over my skin. “Surely he will return this way, at some point.”

  Nothing but a cold smile. “I think it’s time you and your men leave.”

  She snaps her fingers.

  Chair legs screech against the floor and patrons rumble to their feet. Must be thirty men, give or take. Burly, skinny, all of leathery and red skin burnt by sun and wind. They block the exit and cluster about the soldiers, brandishing tankards and cudgels and a handful of daggers.

  My soldiers have fusils held ready, and my lieutenant’s sword slips free of its scabbard. They’re prepared, but I can see fear in the wide set of their eyes, the rapid breaths. Only the lieutenant stands firm.

  I return Juric’s smile, and raise my right hand over my head. Bolts of lightning lance up and dance along the ceiling beams. My hair stands on end, as does Juric’s. Men mutter and swear, make warding gestures to fend off whatever devilry they deem at work.

  After giving the wood a good scorching, I rein the lightning in. Silence. Utter quiet, except for the rain. Without word the onlookers and would-be rescuers shuffle to their seats.

  Good. Keep the rabble at bay. I reach under my cloak. Pull out a small, ornate dagger. The hilt is encrusted with jewels.

  Juric tenses. But my intentions are bloodless, I assure you. I let the dagger clatter onto the bar. Worth as much as the bag of silver. “Is your memory improving?”

  She scowls at me, the first major crack in her defenses. But she slips the bag and the dagger into the folds of her dress. “I will not tell you where he went. However, he claimed he will return within a week or two for supplies.”

  Well now. I give my kindest smile and bow neatly at the waist. “Very good. Very good indeed. We shall avail ourselves of your hospitality until then.”

  I turn toward my lieutenant, but a hand seizes my arm. Not the metal one.

  Juric glares at me. “You want only the relic.”

  “Of course.”

  “Bowen won’t be jailed or otherwise harmed.”

  “Never crossed my mind, my lady.”

  “And the relic—”

  “His Majesty will keep it safe by his side.” Amazing the things people will believe when you tell them with a smile, and with a bag of your silver in their possession.

  She does not lessen her grip. My jaw clenches. The orb at my shoulder begins to throb. If this is some kind of ruse, my men won’t have time to react before I reduce this woman and her unruly patrons to smoldering flesh.

  “I want double this when the relic is in your hands,” Juric says.

  “Done.”

  She lets go of my arm and whirls to the bar.

  Metal clinks. My lieutenant takes his hand off his sword. Good man. “We’ll need more silver from the ship’s strongbox, sire.”

  “Tell the captain he’d best not be stingy.”

  “You will actually pay?”

  “Of course.” Idiot. “Why make an adversary where one is not needed?”

  “I shall arrange lodging for the men, then.”

  “Yes. Make certain to split them by squads among as many of these seedy establishments nearby. But not here. Keep Inexorable ready to fight.”

  “Are you expecting a fight, sir?”

  “Always.” I lead him from the bar. A glance back confirms Vesna Juric watching us with hawk’s eyes. Outside the rain has abated some, down to a fine mist. “Bowen Cord has proven himself elusive, and capable of destroying a golem. No mean feat, that.”

  “Yes, sir. We shall remain vigilant.”

  Sky’s fire, what a bore. “Have Inexorable moved to a new anchorage, behind the largest island.”

  “Sir?”

  No more questions or I may scream. “We want her ready and hidden, Lieutenant. I’ll not have Cord spot us when we’re a ways off and douse our sails in ice.”

  “Yes, sir. Understood.”

  He rounds up the men and leads them in searc
h of lodging. Imbecile.

  ~

  Everyone on Inexorable ignores me. The crew won’t even look me in the eye. Fair enough. I avoid them all and wend my way into the bowels of the ship, deep amongst her rotting timbers, below the cannons and their sulfurous stench, and the food stores that smell equally vile.

  Down among the cargo and ballast is a cage.

  It’s an iron box, with four slits on either side. Nestled among the barrels and crates, it rattles as I approach.

  “You’ll stand fast and obey when I loose these locks.” I dig for my key and open the padlock. Lighting crackles in my hand. Just in case.

  One side slams down, banging against the side. A pair of glowing yellow eyes glare out of the shadow. “Eat.”

  It’s a hideous voice, one that brings to mind the breaking bones and tearing of flesh. “No. Not now. I have a message for you to take to the King. Do so and return, and you will eat.”

  One clawed hand reaches out, tests the edge. Three fingers, glistening black talons, knobbly gray skin. “Meat.”

  “I said no. Obey my command. Now, Jix.”

  Jix emerges from the cave, cautiously. He’s five feet long, with four leathery brown wings that unfold as ragged sails. He has a narrow snout and bares rows needle-sharp translucent fangs at me. Charming, he is not. But the brass collar stamped with runes that squeezes at his neck keeps him in my thrall.

  “Words.” He hisses. “Words. Then Meat.”

  “Yes, fine, you will feed. Tell His Majesty I require the assistance I mentioned when I departed, to rendezvous at Zadar immediately.”

  “Assistance?”

  “Never you mind. Deliver it.” I gesture to the hatch.

  He crouches, tense. A growl builds.

  “Move!” A single jolt of lightning is enough to prod him into flight. Jix screeches his way up the stairs between decks. Cries of alarmed crewmen mark his passage.

  Intolerable as it is to control a valkiro, they are invaluable messengers with superb memory and impressive stamina. I have no doubt he’ll be away less than two sunsets.

  And then… Well. I allow a small smile.

  Captain Bowen Cord will have a welcome awaiting.

  THE SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER

  ~

  Bowen

  THE WINDS ARE MERCILESS UP here. They whip and tear at the sails. Our sails strain under the pummeling. But Sleet is no novice to foul sailing. She and I have ventured through worse.

  Niall is a fiend at the wheels. He holds her steady, a fierce grin on his face. The wind tosses his hair and he laughs heartily, the sound competing with the howling currents.

  Ariya swoops down from her inspecting of the rigging, her fourth such trip within the hour. She is decidedly less cheery. “The lines will hold even if Niall insists on jerking us about. I’ve made doubly sure.”

  “I knew you would. Well done.” My boot rests on the rail at the starboard bow. I don’t look at her. My eyes are busy scanning the clouds for what I hope to find.

  Gridley barks like mad. He races to the bowsprit.

  As usual, he has me beaten. Only after a few minutes later do I see the long black shapes dipping through gray clouds as thick as cotton. Their forms writhe around towering rock spires whose tops disappear in the very same clouds and whose bottoms hover a thousand feet above the steel gray ocean. Steep spikes of granite, pale brown and white, reach thousands of feet into the air. Sheets of pale green moss coat swaths of rock, and sickly brown vines wrap around long, sharp aethershards glowing green on the undersides of the isles.

  We’ve arrived at Cloud Reef.

  “There’s company coming!” Niall’s voice is hoarse. He waves wildly to port. “A pair diving to intercept us! Here’s hoping they’re the friendly sort!”

  He needn’t worry. I expect no trouble. Not with Ariya aboard. The two he spotted are juveniles, forty feet long, more than half the length of Sleet. Their bellies are a milky off-white, and the rest of their bodies a deep, iridescent blue and black. They fly in tandem, wings pounding at the wind. Their wings have not yet developed the tatters and scars that adorn the adults’, but they are just as translucent, seeming to glow against the sky. The one in front soars past the bowsprit. The crest of spines atop his head and neck is shimmering silver, much more impressive than the stubs of his companion. Flame blasts from his mouth in a ragged stream, a yellow-orange beacon illuminating fangs that would quail even the most stalwart knight.

  The dragons are alert to our presence.

  “Young sentinels!” I stand on the bow, holding fast to a line. Gridley whines. He tugs at my trousers with his teeth. “We seek an audience with Benath the Wise, the ruler of this air! Send word that Captain Bowen Cord offers his greetings!”

  The dragons loop Sleet. The crowned one sneers at us—and if you’ve never seen a dragon sneer, well, more’s the better for you. Even Niall has no jibe to utter. The voice is as pleasant as the sound of flesh tearing and bone cracking. “We do not suffer the scum of the earth to enter our domain without invite, wingless worm.”

  “Brother of the air.” Ariya rises from the deck with slow, strong beats of her wings. The sneer fades from the dragon’s face into a tight grimace. I take it to be an improvement. “We mean no dishonor. My traveling companions and I wish to have audience with Benath, as folk who have trespassed not against the beings of the sky.”

  The crowned dragon mulls this, huffing softly as it flaps huge, leathery wings. I can hear Niall’s growl building, and I turn about with a glare to direct his way. The sound cuts off and he makes a sour face.

  “Set these intruders ablaze and be done with them.” This from the younger of the two dragons. He puffs a gout of flame. “I will wager they burn alive before their aethershard fails them.”

  “No!” The crowned one glares at him, and the younger dragon is abashed into sullen silence. “You know the order regarding Aevorn. She is welcome. As are guests of her choosing.”

  He comes in closer, bringing his snout arm’s length from my body. His breath is a fetid roil of rotted fish and acrid brimstone. “But guests who defile our skies forfeit safety.”

  I smile, thankfully, and nod in response.

  “Follow if you can.” The crowned one pounds air with his wings and dives toward the Reefs. His younger companion bellows and gives chase.

  “Niall…”

  “We’ll not lose them, Bowen!” Niall’s grin returns, and he cranks hard on both wheels. Sleet careens on the heels of the dragons, ascending into the airborne archipelago.

  Dragons are everywhere. Sleek youngsters gambol in the clouds, veering around the mountains. They dive at sheer angles to the ocean, pulling up at the last moment to savage the waves with their claws. Occasionally they bring up a huge fish as a prize, sometimes two.

  Cries of infants echo from dark clefts in the islets as we sail swiftly by. Rookeries abound. I count ten on one small peak. Curious mothers, twice as big as the youngsters who so ably greeted us, peer out from the clefts. Their heads are smooth, devoid of spikes, and their hide a mottled gray-blue. They hoot questions to our escorts, who remain well ahead of us but still within sight. No answers forthcoming.

  The isles are covered here and there with more of the same green moss and brown vines, with scattered shrubbery. Flocks of small winged lizards swirl through the winds and around the peaks. There are hundreds of them, visible in their own swift clouds crowding the isles.

  Beyond the maze of floating islands looms the core of Cloud Reef. I have never seen it, but the stories that spill forth from sailors as readily as the ale flows into their tankards do it no justice. “The Half Fang,” I whisper.

  Niall gapes and for once, is speechless, at the sight of the huge island that overshadows everything else in the reef. It is the tallest soaring mountain I have ever seen, reaching a mile from tip to top. It is entirely devoid of vegetation. Sometime long ago half the monstrous diamond shape sloughed clean off, leaving one side shorn flat. Legend has it the birth of B
enath tore it asunder.

  “Home to Benath the Wise, protector of all dragonkind and brethren of the air within the Atlan Reach.” Ariya’s tone is as reverent as Father Evan’s at vespers.

  Luc tugs at my cloak. “Captain, need we fear the dragon?”

  I glance at one of our guardians. That yellow eye swivels my way, and narrows into a glare. No, they do not want us here. “Ariya is of the Aevorn, and as her guests we are to be treated with hospitality.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  Sharp lad, this one. “No, it doesn’t.”

  Luc stares at me a moment, then regards the Half Fang. “I would like to see where they’re going to tie us up, if they don’t get many visitors.”

  A fair question. But as we come about to the shorn side of the Half Fang, it is answered. There is a huge cleft, a hundred feet or more across, ripped in the flat face. It is triangular and its depths as black as pitch. It is flanked by two male dragons, seated on their haunches. They look to be eighty or ninety feet long, if laid out straight, and their fan of spikes on their heads would shame the proudest armored soldier. They are colored the same as our escorts, but have flanks riddled with deep, savage scars.

  Below the entrance to the cave is a rock outcropping, jagged and thrice the length of Sleet. My mind conjures the sight of a lowered drawbridge for comparison. Cords of rope are strewn about the edges, secured to iron pins. Ah. “Ariya, would you mind?”

  “I see, Captain.” She sweeps ahead and lands among the rope with a flourish of feathers.

  Niall steers Sleet alongside the outcroppings. Together Ariya and I, with Luc’s help, secure the mooring lines.

  Our escorts alight before the cave guardians and exchange a long conversation on growls, snarls and hoots. We’re sheltered from the worst of the wind here. Sleet’s gentle bobbing tells me she’s pleased with her berth.

  Ariya leans close, and gestures to the dragon quartet. “The guards have not agreed to let us enter. They have chastised our escorts for being naïve and foolish.”

  Not a good first impression. I hear a cacophony of thumps from belowdecks. Niall emerges with a brace of pistols on his belt, two muskets tucked under his arms and a bulging bag slung over his shoulder. Metal clinks inside the sack. He grins. “No harm in being prepared.”