The Bloodheart

by Steve Rzasa

  The Bloodheart rushes in on itself, reforming, into its familiar shape. A rush of cold air pulls away from us, and gives the relic one last spin. Its pieces slam together with a clang that reverberates off the cavern walls, sealing the Tear deep inside the reformed Bloodheart. The glow dies. It drops.

  Luc catches it as handily as a man breathes.

  “Good. Very good indeed.” Benath rears up and looses a gout of flame up at the ceiling. The glow illuminates everything yellow-orange, bright as day for a moment. “You are worthy of carrying this burden, child. Be wary of its dangers.”

  Luc nods. “I will.”

  Benath stares at us. At me. One would think the warmth of flame would penetrate the ice crystallizing in my body, freezing my limbs. I will it away, demand its retreat. It obeys, though it does not flee entirely.

  “You would do well not to trifle with the Bloodheart,” Benath rumbles. “It will grant you great abilities, and protect you from enemies, but it will not be manipulated.”

  “I understand.” I do not.

  “I smell your fear, ice-summoner. You heed your sister of the winds, and leash your were-fox. I will be watching you, rest assured, as you seek the final element of the Bloodheart needed to make it whole again.”

  “And how will you do that?” Niall says. “Is there a map tucked in your underbelly?”

  Him and that mouth of his. “Enough, Niall.”

  “Always full of bluster, the Vulpex.” Benath grins. “Take heart. You will be shown the way.”

  At that, the Bloodheart begins to pulse once again. A dull red glow. Very slow, and measured, no more than once every five seconds by my count.

  I bow deeply. “We are in your debt, Benath.”

  “Yes, yes you are, man-worm. Yes, you are.”

  I am not reassured by his laughter as we leave the cavern.

  THE NINETEENTH CHAPTER

  ~

  Strathern

  He’s coming.

  Sleet is twenty miles off. Even at this distance, tiny as she is through the eyepiece of my spyglass, I can see she’s a fine vessel. Swift lines of her hull cut the clouds.

  Pity I will destroy her. The plan may need reconsideration. I could use such an agile scout in my fleet.

  Yes, I have a fleet now. Jix was successful in his errand. He’s locked safely away in his cage. Gorged himself into a stupor on lamb upon his return. Live lamb, of course. The sounds of that meal will not soon fade from my memory—bleating voice, crackling bones, ripping meat. But he came back leading four ships, so I’m inclined to put it aside best I can.

  Granted, these ships are built for speed and not for war. They’re schooners of six sails, not as slender as Sleet but nimble in their own right. All of them are running with eight guns apiece, which is more than adequate for the mission at hand.

  We’ll have Bowen Cord nicely hemmed in.

  HMS Vigil and HMS Encampment I have sent to opposite ends of the Zadar islets, shielded behind them from any western approaches. HMS Cobra and HMS Rattler are moored in the bay, below the islands, a half mile to the northwest and southeast, respectively. Inexorable, as I commanded, waits behind the hills to the east of Zadar amongst a smattering of smuggler ships and a pair of trading feluccas. Several tried to leave when Inexorable took up her hiding place among the forest of masts. The implied threat of our cannons keep them in place.

  All Cord will see is the back of our sails, the emblems hidden from his approach. We are far enough away it gives the illusion our towering masts are the same height as the smaller ships near us.

  “The captains await your signal, sire.” My lieutenant salutes. He doesn’t have a button out of place nor a strap unbuckled.

  I, on the other hand, have draped my cloak over the stern deck’s railing and rolled up my sleeve. Sunlight glints of my metal arm. The breeze off the sea is quite pleasant, and I close my eyes. The smell of the surf is refreshing, even this far behind the city. I’d like to step away from here, to the farm of my ancestors, and the ports nearby.

  “Sire?”

  “Don’t interrupt.” My eyes snap open. “I doubt even those dolts will miss the signal.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Idiot. I sweep a glance across the decks below. The crew mill about, readying cannons, scampering up the rigging, swarming about the three masts doing all the things they do to prepare the ship for battle.

  A short battle, but battle nonetheless.

  The captain is a great block of a man, wide as he is tall and graced with both the temperament and good looks of a troll. Black beard, black hair, dark eyes, skin tanned brown. He wears the red jacket which only captains are allowed, with his own brown cloak discarded I know not where. “Sire, my crew awaits. Give word and we’ll be airborne in three minutes.”

  “Good, Captain Hamish.” I lift the spyglass. Cord comes. If he suspects anything, the approach of his cutter does not betray suspicion. “And how is our guest?”

  Captain Hamish smiles. “She’s as comfortable as she’s going to get.”

  The devious wench herself, Vesna Juric, stands detained behind us. Her hands are bound behind her, and her mouth closed with a gag. Neither stops her from slamming a booted heel into the shin of the burly sailor with gold earrings who was supposed to have her in custody. Instead she strides to me with all the bearing of royalty.

  “You have words you wish to exchange with me?” I smile.

  She narrows her eyes, those glittering emeralds, and tosses hair from her face. The lift of her chin and haughty expression suggest I’d have better luck hand-wrestling a golem.

  I gesture to the lieutenant. He yanks the rag tied about her face down without ceremony, and she sputters. “Speak now, my lady.”

  “How dare you abduct me without cause!” Her voice cuts through the air as clear as a temple bell. “I gave you the information you sought and you promised me further compensation. This is hardly what I envisioned.”

  “My lady, please. Do not fluster yourself. I have renegotiated the terms of our agreement in light of recent developments.”

  “Renegotiated? Your king must have quite the opinion of himself if he thinks his reach extends from far-off Northamber to the merchant houses of Zadar.” Juric sneers. “House Kasun is my patron, and I have dealings with House al-Shem, House Napthalaras—”

  “None of which will do you any good.” I pull the letter from my pocket. She halts mid-harangue. Her eyes widen, ever so slightly. “Yes. I found it. Did you really think you could slip it by my men?”

  Her mouth closes, works as if she’s chewing upon new words to unleash. “Doorward Strathern, please let me explain.”

  “There is no explanation. Your heart longs for Bowen Cord and it has undone your abilities as a trader. You gave up silver and the lure of more treasure for the promise of a warm body in your bed.” I open the letter. “You didn’t even have the good sense to encrypt the contents.”

  “There wasn’t time.” Juric scowls. “Once I heard Bowen was coming back for certain I knew I had to try to get him word.”

  “Yes, I know. He was at Taranto two nights past.” I smile again at her evident consternation. Jix is such a useful spy as well as errand valkiro. “It matters not. Now I have something even more important than firepower to use against Cord.”

  “What, pray tell, is that?”

  I lean in close. Her scent is divine. I brush away a strand of black hair and tuck it behind her ear. She shivers. It would be so simple, and well within my rights as the King’s servant, to take her as I please. Well worth it, no doubt.

  “Leverage,” I whisper into her ear.

  ~

  Sleet makes for the largest of the docks at Zadar. I turn to Captain Hamish. “Now.”

  The captain shouts orders at his crew, and Inexorable, true to his words, rises into the air with the restless energy of a bear shaking itself awake to hunt for food. Sails billow like clouds, and the magic ship’s aethershard surges through the hull. I can feel its strengt
h, like the sun’s warmth on a cold day.

  I raise my hands to the sky. The orb at my shoulder throbs with restrained power. Time for the signal. The lieutenant wisely pulls Vesna Juric aside.

  “Fulmine icta.”

  Lightning blasts forth. The bolts rake at the sky, leaping up to the clouds. Thunder rumbles across the hills.

  I’m coming, Cord.

  Cannon blasts answer the thunder and lightning. Two, then a third, followed rapidly by the fourth. The other four ships cast off, heading to intercept. Vigil and Encampment are closest.

  The black and red banners of Northamber snap in the wind. Surely Cord has seen and heard by now.

  He has. Sleet banks hard starboard from the docks, narrowly missing the furled sails of a wide-bottomed carrack trader. She pulls up and away, turning her hull at such a steep angle I wonder how Cord can put her through such maneuvers without shattering her aethershard.

  Vigil is on her tail. The captain puts a warning shot across the stern. There’s a flash of white that leaps across the space between the ships. The cries of men under attack carry faintly on the wind to where I pace Inexorable’s stern deck. My spyglass reveals the source—the Aevorn female. She races across Vigil’s deck with such speed I can barely keep the glass focused on her. White wings blur and her crossbow snaps off arrows with startling accuracy.

  “More speed!” I flail the spyglass at the hapless sailor at the wheels. “We’ll not have a prize if our enemy’s crew uses our men for pincushions!”

  Captain Hamish translates my rant into precise orders. The sails gather up more wind, and we gain speed. Encampment pulls even with Vigil in pursuit of Sleet. Musket fire cracks. The Aevorn woman spirals to her ship.

  How many has she killed? Enough that Vigil goes momentarily off course and Encampment must take up the slack.

  Thankfully Cobra and Rattler join the fray. They rise from the opposite berths and race at steep angles. Their courses will take them in arcs and put them in front of Cord’s bow.

  He knows it, too. Sleet pulls to port and noses down. But my ships are not easily dissuaded. I grin. No traders are these. Good sailors. Good crews. Driven by the lash and fear of pain.

  More cannon fire rings out. Inexorable closes range. Sleet turns toward Zadar, and to us, as we soar over the orange terra cotta roofs of town. She hems and haws, uncertain which way to turn.

  Now the noose tightens. The other ships take up positions around her, cannons brought to broadsides.

  I step up on the rail and seize the rigging with my real arm. With the metal hand I press my palm aside my throat, and shout, “Bowen Cord and crew of Sleet! By order of His Majesty the king of Northamber, I command you to heave to and furl sail! You are hereby detained on royal authority!”

  My voice booms like thunder itself across the sky. I see the shapes of Cord and his people on deck. A tiny flicker of light emanates from the bow.

  Spyglass.

  I smile. “Lieutenant, bring her to me.”

  He drags Vesna Juric forward. She struggles and kicks, and he absorbs her blows without complaint. When near enough I take my metal arm and pull her up onto the rail by her right arm. She screams. A natural response for a woman being dangled several hundred feet over the ocean.

  Feast your glass upon this, Cord.

  For moment, nothing. Sleet continues on her course toward Inexorable. Captain Hamish barks a command, and Inexorable swings to starboard, presenting the gaping maws of eight cannons to the onrushing cutter.

  Is he daft enough to attempt to run us down? Sleet has no weapons.

  But Cord is an ice-summoner. He could, were he trained to his full potential, conjure a blizzard that would toss Inexorable as a cork in a bucket.

  Sleet’s sails furl. She slows to a drift, coasting on her momentum and held aloft by her aethershard.

  A cheer goes up from the sailors. I suspect the gunners, though, would have preferred to fire. I am in no mood to celebrate, just yet, and that is why I pull Juric back from a long fall but do not set her down from the stern deck’s rail. “Bring us alongside her, Captain.”

  “Aye, sire.” Hamish commands his helmsman and sailors ably. One would not think Inexorable could slide up to the smaller cutter with such dexterity. But she does, and our starboard sails brush near to Sleet’s hull.

  Cord is there.

  He’s what I expected of a merchant captain from the north: average height, average build, though even separated by thirty feet of open air I can see that his arms are well-defined by muscle. How long has he been a captain and sailor? Years. Long enough a life outdoors shows in the lines on his face and the golden tinge to brown hair. A handsome man, fit to win Juric’s heart. His cloak billows around him, the wrath in his expression personified.

  “You have no business with her,” are the first words from his mouth. Strong words. Not a moment’s hesitation.

  I smile in return. Any doubts of their mutual affection are dispelled. “On the contrary, Captain, the lady and I made an arrangement for a sizeable sum of silver.”

  “What do you want?”

  “It’s not any sundry goods in your hold.”

  Cord is silent. I size up his crew. A mangy cur growls and barks at us from beside his leg. At the wheels is a towering man with blazing red hair and a brace of wheellocks. The vulpex, no doubt. My lieutenant is fore, with his musket aimed steadily at the imposing figure. The Aevorn flits down to the deck from the masts. She has a crossbow bearing a wicked arrow aimed for me, and a scowl that could burn lead.

  Cord pushes her aim aside. “We don’t carry much else—and I’m sorry but I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance.”

  “I am Strathern, Doorward to the King of Northamber, his personal representative on a quest to reclaim relics of significance.” At the word “relics” Cord’s hand twitches. He flexes it, curling the fingers. Perhaps it was a trick of the sun, though the clouds are now thicker overhead, but I swear I saw a blue glow.

  “Before you consider a set of lies while you formulate your escape, Captain, let me say I will not hesitate to drop this fine lady from the skies if you made any rash attempts at subterfuge.” Juric is in tears, but she glares at me. I jerk her arm, and her shoes scrabble for grip on the ship’s rail. “Give me the relic.”

  At this a boy pushes between Cord and the Aevorn. So. This is he. The lad whom my informants said hailed from the coven of soulmages. How do I know, with hardly a look? No other child carries themselves with such an air of peace about them, with such confidence borne in their eyes. He stares at me, frowning. Hypnotic.

  I hate him already.

  “If I give it to you, what will you give me?” Cord asks.

  I give Juric another shake. “What you understandably desire.”

  “If you’ve put so much as a hair of hers out of place I will slit you from navel to neck and leave your entrails for the gulls.” It’s not a shout, but a cold, hard promise.

  “Such bold talk from the man surrounded by five of His Majesty’s warships. Come now, Captain. Let’s come to an agreement—oh, and let’s add to that agreement the unnecessary folly of any attempt to ice things over.”

  Cord’s eyes widen.

  “Yes, you see, Captain? Brethren like us must know these things of each other.” I form a spinning orb of ball lightning, and murmuring the proper incantation send it crackling across the space between us, trailing sparks and tiny bolts. I stand there for a moment, no grip on the ship’s rigging, balanced and free. Juric is forgotten. Only the power within me takes my focus.

  Give me more.

  “You give Vesna to me, and we’ll arrange for a trade.” Cord has his hand on his sword’s hilt.

  “Those are not terms I agree to. Let me give you—”

  “Bowen, don’t deal!” Juric slips from my grasp. Quite the surprise, this one. “He means to kill you!”

  I slap her hard across the face. Certainly Cord sees it. His sword flashes from its scabbard. The Aevorn lifts her cros
sbow again. A handful of my men, on the quarterdeck, jostle their muskets into position.

  “Stand down!” My voice roars across the sky. “Of all the idiocy! I want the man alive, and I want the relic in my hands!”

  Temper. Must rein it in. I let the lightning crackle across my skin. Soothing. Give them a smile and start again. “Captain. A man of your abilities can find great employ with His Majesty. After all, slaying a golem? Quite impressive. But my patience has limits, as you see. I give you this last chance. Surrender the relic and yourselves to me.”

  I seize Juric’s arm and haul her up again. “And if you need a reminder why…”

  “No!” Cord stretches out his hand.

  “Think swiftly.” I press her over the rail. She screams.

  A bone-shattering roar drowns out the sound

  A dragon swoops on us from—where? The accursed thing flies out of the sun! Blue and white, a marvelous creature with a bold crown of spikes, it dives at Vigil and spits a ball of blazing yellow flame at the ship. One of my ships! Cotton ignites, burns and blackens. And it rushes by, wings pounding air, and lets loose another gout at Rattler.

  Cord’s crew shouts in adulation.

  Men cry out in terror and officer shout orders. Gunfire erupts in a volley of deafening cracks.

  “Hold fire! Hold fire!” I scream until I’m hoarse.

  Vesna Juric knees me in the gut, knocking the wind from me mid-shout. She slithers out of reach, and vaults to the quarterdeck into the commotion of sailors.

  Dragon.

  Where the hell did Bowen Cord get a dragon?

  THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER

  ~

  Bowen

  They have Vesna.

  It’s all I care about, even with a dragon roaring over our heads and blasting the Northamber ships with flame. “Niall! Take us up and get out of here!”

  “Best cursed idea you’ve had yet!” Niall spins the rise wheel into a blur. Sleet lurches upward, lifting like a kite let go in a windstorm.