by Steve Rzasa
She swoops out ahead. Tereth roars and surges into the air with a great gust of his wings. Our boots thud across the grass, our cloaks flying behind us.
We’re fifty feet from Sleet when Gridley is thrown over the ship’s rail.
His body hits the grass and rolls, black and white fur tumbling. He slides to a halt near Vesna. She skids onto her knees, cradles his body.
Her hand comes away slick with red.
The beast appears at the edge of the ship’s deck. A hideous nightmare. Four wings tattered and sharp-edged as any bat’s. It bares fangs and dives at us, knobbly skin flashing pale blue in the moonlight.
Niall barks a warning and fires his musket. The report is ear-splitting and coughs a huge puff of smoke between us and the onrushing creature. It tears through, apparently unharmed by the shot, and knocks the weapon from Niall’s hands.
More wings beat through the smoke. Ariya. She shoots twice with her crossbow in rapid succession, faster than I can reload, but the bolts embed themselves in grass.
I wheel about and fire my pistol.
Flash and smoke obscure my sight. There’s a blood-curdling screech. By the time I’ve coughed my way clear of the smoke the creature charges us, as big as a cougar, sporting a long tear in one wing. I dive aside as it rips by. Knives tear at my back, shredding my cloak. Pain lances through my body.
My face meets the ground. There’s grass in my teeth.
Tereth roars again, and the sky lights up with a ball of flame. He’s missed, and a long stretch of grass is charred black. That creature may only be five feet long to his fifty, but it slashes at him with small talons as it flies rings around him.
How in the clear skies did we not see it aboard? Where did it hide?
Niall draws a bead on it with his musket. The hammer’s cocked and he’s ready to fire.
The beast shivers and disappears. All I can see is a ripple in the air, like the heat waves on the summer horizon, as they distort the stars.
Niall fires. The flash lights up everything but he misses.
He’s thrown aside by an unseen impact. Cloth rips. His cloak is rent, and he slides on his arse a good six feet.
Niall roars, his face and muscles straining. Red and white fur sprouts, limbs contort, and green eyes expand and take on a wild glare. Fangs jut out, dripping saliva.
It’s awoken the vulpex. A poor move on the creature’s part.
“Steady, Niall! Ariya! Can you see it?” I get onto my knees. Where is my pistol? The falchion is still in its scabbard.
“Not wholly, Captain, but I can sense—there!” She shoots another bolt from her crossbow. Nothing.
“Tereth! Bring it down!” I hurry to Vesna, who’s binding Gridley’s haunches with a long strip torn from her skirt. It’s dark with blood, even in this dim light.
“If I could but smell the beast, I would! It carries no scent to my snout.” The dragon barks in surprise. A new tear appears in its wings. Tereth snarls and snaps around, lashing the air with his tail.
“If it comes close enough to me again, it’ll regret the error.” Niall the vulpex is testing the air with his nose, sniffing for a scent. He drops his musket in the grass, smoke still curling from the bell, and tears his katana free of his belt. “Come find me, you overgrown puss-filled slime-dripping bat wing!”
His shouts echo nicely but do not have the desired effect. Instead there’s a cry from Ariya and she’s tumbling through the air. Her crossbow spirals into the ground. But she whips about and grabs a fistful of—nothing. With the other hand she stabs with a dagger.
Black ichor spurt, and the creature howls. It shimmers back into sight. Talons rake Ariya’s arms. She plummets like a shooting star.
The creature dives to ground and disappears.
Niall drops his sword and leaps ten feet up into an arc. He catches Ariya effortlessly and slams into the ground, feet dragging gouges in the dirt. She folds her wings in, cradling her body, with her eyes pinched shut. Niall holds on to her with a glare directed at me that warns I daren’t dissuade him from his task.
“I can’t see it!” Vesna searches the sky.
“Steady, all.” I have my sword, but no ideas. Even Tereth hangs about, wary, bracing for the next strike.
“Don’t worry. I can see it.” Luc stands next to me. He has the Bloodheart in his hands, and the red glow is gone. It’s shining silver, as if sitting out under the sun.
And so are his eyes.
He holds up his left hand. It glows the same silver, and a globe of swirling light builds until it’s the size of a breadbasket. A jet of water jumps out.
It strikes what looks like air, but sends the creature tumbling from the sky.
The creature somersaults, wings flapping helplessly, screams mingling with the scrape of its body on the ground. It staggers to its feet, tearing up grass with its claws. The wound Ariya dealt drips blood. The creature is a long jump away from Vesna and Gridley.
Vesna wraps her arm around his throat and raises the jeweled dagger against the beast.
It lunges for them. But it’s still visible.
Flame brings daylight to the scene. The creature’s engulfed, body reduced to a black silhouette in the orange and yellow fire. It cries out, a bone-shattering scream that goes on and on, as the fire blasts it. Waves of heat wash over Vesna and Gridley, yet do them no harm. Instead they curl up over a swirling, curved wall of water.
Tereth’s fire dies out. All that remains is a smoldering carcass, charred cinders, on burnt grass and blackened ground.
I approach the remnants, my muscles tense. Give it a jab with my sword. There’s a collar there. Brass? Copper? It’s half-melted, and bears strange runes.
It burns my hand. I curse. A blister rises on my thumb.
“Bowen.” Vesna rubs at Gridley’s head. He looks up, whimpers. “He’s got a bad gash on his hindquarters. But I can heal his wound. It’s nothing worse than what I saw tending bar.”
My heart aches at the sight of my faithful Gridley. He licks my face, and whimpers again. I press his head close to my chest. Not poor Gridley. “Thank you, Vesna.”
There’s a ruckus behind me. By ruckus, I mean to say Niall is roaring at the top of his lungs. “Bowen! Bowen, did you see what the boy did!”
I did see. Just as I saw him render motionless our enemies when we escaped Zadar. And I still don’t believe it.
Luc stands there, the Bloodheart an apple dangling from his right hand. His left arm hangs at his side. Water drips from the fingertips. Gone is the silver sheen from both his eyes and the Bloodheart. It resumes its steady, soft red pulsing.
“What did I say, were-fox?” Tereth lands with a thump that jars the earth. “The Bloodheart is powerful, especially so now that it is joined with the other two sources of magic.”
“Not that! The boy is a water-summoner and never told us! And you could have explained that if you’d known, dragon!”
“I did not know. Because he isn’t a summoner. Dragons can sense summoners.” Tereth sniffs. His expression is one of curiosity. “This boy presents nothing of the sort to me.”
“But he—”
“Niall! Put your claws away.” I beckon Luc to me. He looks as startled by everything as the rest of us.
“Fine.” Niall shifts into his human form, his eyes wild and hair blasted as if by wind. He sets Ariya down with the gentleness of a shepherd putting a lamb to rest on the meadow. She whispers something. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ariya not shout or demand, save to Luc. Whatever she says, Niall becomes suddenly very interested in the tips of his boots and will not meet her face.
Luc tugs on my tunic. Wetness seeps through the cloth. “I … I don’t understand. I could see the monster, and when I called out for help the water came to me.”
“You never said a word aloud, lad,” I say.
“Oh. But I did call.” He looks up at Tereth. “What kind of monster was it?”
Tereth toes the remains of the creature with a claw. “This was a
valkiro. A young one. It served darkness, that much I sensed.”
“The collar?” I ask.
He nods. “It was used to leash him. By someone with great evil behind his purpose. You know of whom I speak.”
“Strathern. It has to be.” I rub Gridley’s side, and he licks my hand. He’s a strong hound. He’ll mend. Especially if Vesna tends to him.
“There’s more herbs I can use to salve his wounds, on the ship,” Vesna says.
“Wait. Ariya?”
She nods. Her arms are bloody, but she’s made no move to bind them. She’s not weak, either. If anything she looks more stolid and determined than ever. “I will go with her. We will make sure there are no other surprises.”
“There aren’t,” Luc whispers. “I only saw the one monster.”
Ariya nods. She and Vesna start for the ship.
Niall sidles up to me, crouches beside Gridley. Sweat drenches his tunic, and drips from his face. “Luc is not a summoner.”
“No. No he’s not.” I glance at the lad. “Your father never taught you the ways of a soulmage, did he?”
Luc shakes his head.
“Please, lad. Try something for me.”
“What?”
I dig through the legends Evan told me years ago, and the secrets hinted at in my abbreviated training. “Summon ice from your right hand, and fire from your left.”
Niall growls.
Luc puts the Bloodheart back into its bag, which dangles across his shoulders. He holds both hands out, and frowns. “How?”
“However you did it before, Luc.”
He closes his eyes. His lips move. A silver glow emanates from the bag, and when he opens his eyes, they are that eerie luminous silver, too.
Luc thrusts both hands skyward. A plume of fire gouts from his left palm, curling and crackling with heat. A blue glow encases his right, sending sparkling ice in a hailstorm over our heads.
I let the icy bits fall upon my face. Remarkable.
“It … it can make men into soulmages.” Niall’s eyes are wide. “Fine. You were right. We shouldn’t have tried to sell it.”
“We must return this to Benath, and the safety of Cloud Reef,” Tereth says.
“We must.” I turn to him. “But first, I must take it to an old friend. Our sanctuary is nearer.”
THE TWENTY-FIFTH CHAPTER
~
Strathern
Jix is dead.
Oh, yes. I know it.
The collar that bound him to my will bound me to him, too, though not as tightly as he’d like. Jix was my servant, I was his master.
But even in the dark of the woods, can a man not tell when the leash securing him to his hunting hound is severed? Same principle.
One moment I’m snapping orders at my lieutenant, then next I’m bracing myself on a bulkhead of Inexorable. My breath comes in shallow gasps.
“Sire?” He waits nearby. But doesn’t touch.
Good thing. Mood I’m in I would crush the bones in that hand with my metal appendage. Jix’s last words echo—Too many to fight! Must bring message! Bolts. Musket balls. Fire. A child? Such power! He… water? Fire … burns!
Darkness.
I suck in a breath, and focus my mind on the precepts my master taught me: control, contain, consume. “Jix is dead.”
“You’re certain, sire?”
“Of course I am certain.” Idiot. “Continue on course.”
“Yes, sire.”
I walk onto the stern deck. The stars are gorgeous tonight. Hundreds of them, thousands of glittering eyes. Some summoners believe they are the souls of those who died striving to extend their power.
I scowl. Fools. The best path is the slow path to power. Best to savor it. After all, what good is power if you are dead? Better not to die. Period.
Our squadron continues north. Encampment and Rattler soar below and behind us, our trailing clouds. There are few floating islands in this region. Mountains make a long, dark shadow farther north, silhouetted against the velvety blue sky.
That relic is near. It is almost in my grasp. Our grasp.
When we have it, there will be nothing to stand before the forces of Northamber.
“Sire.” Captain Hamish approaches from the ship’s wheels, hands clasped behind his back. Everywhere the man’s eyes look, his crew leap to their work. “We have sighted six ships on the horizon. They are flying the Northamber colors but I do not recognize the type. Corsairs?”
“Where? Where are they?” I grasp the ship’s rail, mindful of the seven thousand foot drop just beyond this three-inch thick wood.
Captain Hamish hands me a spyglass. I train it on the distant clouds passing by beneath the glow of the moon. He directs my view.
Yes, he’s right. Six ships. Two three-masted warships of the same general make as Inexorable, and four more rigged as schooners. All are clad in iron scantlings that wrap the hulls. Long, slender spikes of metal protrude from beneath the bowsprits of all six.
“Those are new ships of war, the very same I requested from His Majesty days ago. They are slower than most craft you’ve piloted, Captain, but far more robust.” I stretch metal fingertips to the heavens. Lighting shoots into the sky, great bolts that crackle and thunder, jumping from cloud to cloud far above Inexorable’s masts.
From the lower decks the crews’ cries echo. They should tremble. I demand it.
Captain Hamish is not so easily cowed. “A pretty light show, sire.”
“Yes. One which will be answered.”
He opens his mouth to ask the inevitable but chokes off a reply when lightning bolts lance out from the nearest ship.
Perfect. My brethren have arrived. Late, curse them, but they’ve arrived.
Jix did well.
~
The transfer is done by skiffs. Six boats crewed by a duo of rough sky sailors float over to Inexorable, tiny sails catching the breezes as a fish’s fins scoop up current. The ships join our fleet. I’m satisfied with this nine.
There are six summoners to greet me. Calder leads them. He’s half a head taller than me, with bright blue eyes and hair as pale as straw that looks ever paler against his black cloak. His face is deep-lined, and clean-shaven. They all wear black cloaks, and red-trimmed black garb beneath. Calder bows at the waist. “Sire. We apologize for the delay, but our ships were not fitted out when the summons came.”
“Too bad for you, Calder, or you would have seen the havoc of an unleashed ice-summoner.”
His eyes widen, and he smirks. “An ice-summoner? You have had quite the time. No relic, though.”
“At least I had it in my reach. Far more than you can say, after how many years of searching?”
Calder’s smirk fades. “You remember the others.”
Fantine, the dark-haired wind-summoner, and her twin sister Etheria; hulking Rostov, balding and with hands that smolder with fire; Taran, Rostov’s cousin and he too a fire-summoner, thin as the ship’s rail and with wiry brown hair; and Satara, a red-headed beauty with legs as long as the horizon is far, and a wicked smile to make a weak man drop dead in her tracks. She’s one of the few summoners of earth I’ve met in the flesh. Satara gives me a curtsy and favors me with that smile. “Strathern.”
“Satara.” Never been able to make her abide by rank. Never been able to taste the skin beneath that cloak and the tight-fighting black tunic and armor, either. Pity.
“We accepted your invite without knowledge you’d bring us all together on such a lovely evening,” she says.
“The weather is a pure but welcome coincidence, my dear. Alas, our business is far more serious and leaves no time to admire the sights.”
We commandeer the quarterdeck. My lieutenant stands watch, allowing none to pass. Captain Hamish keeps his eye on us as we congregate.
“So. Vat is next move?” Rostov always frowns. Never seen the man move his lips beyond that position, even when gnawing on a roast lamb’s leg.
“Our next move is to intercept Bowen Cor
d,” I say.
“Again.” Calder winks at Satara.
Ass. “Yes, again. This time we may succeed where I failed since the rest of you have managed to overcome your tardiness.”
Satara’s soft chuckle is reward enough, though Calder’s discomfiture is a bonus.
“Tell us,” Rostov demands.
“We had Cord and his people well hemmed in at Zadar, where a delightful lady told me he would return for resupply. You know the four ships that left Pons Aelius to reinforce my command there.” Heads nod in response. Except for Calder’s. He watches me, icy eyes impassive. Are those sparks behind them? Likely. “They did not prove enough.”
“Obviously. For you only have three of your five,” Calder says.
“The other two are in Zadar undergoing repairs.” They won’t like this bit. “Cord had a dragon with him.”
Curses lash out in the silence. The magic among us tightens. Wind bursts up, shaking the sails and eliciting cries from the hapless sailors working the rigging.
I glare at Fantine and Etheria, who bow their heads silently. Lack of control is their greatest difficulty.
“What manner of dragon, Strathern?” Satara alone has done no swearing. “A Great Lord?”
“No. A blue and white of the Atlan Reach. Just the one.”
“The one that you saw.”
“They do go great distances alone.” Yet. I have posted watch for ambush numerous times since fleeing Zadar. Fleeing? Strategically withdrawing. “Nevertheless we must be cautious. If Cord can bring forth such a beast we’d be wise not to trifle with him.”
“And when did caution ever suit us, sire?” Calder laughs. “Caution is a trait reserved for old women and small boys.”
Chuckles ripple through the group. Except for Rostov and Satara.
I step nose to nose with Calder. His laughter cuts off. The electricity sparks from my right arm to his. He flinches.
“Gansvoort. You remember him, of course.”
“One of my finest mentors.”
“Slain by orcs because he abandoned caution. He was gifted to be one of the greatest summoners of our age.” I slap Calder across the face—with my left hand, not the right. The red welt rising on his cheek is the result I planned, not a broken jaw. “Dead! Flesh gnawed off his bones. The man had complete mastery of fire, and yet it could not save him from an orc horde when he challenged them singlehandedly. Stupidity is what killed him.”
