by Rosie Scott
Ferris smoke drifted past my nostrils, the sweet roasted scent calming me with nostalgia, and the warmth on my face comforting me. Calder was quiet as he maneuvered the warship to the coast, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he focused. Nyx and Holter were both manning the sails to slow the ship down. Holter loved being on the seas, and Calder taught him a lot about life as a sailor during their trip from Monte to Olympia together in our Hammerton campaign. Perhaps it allowed Holter to feel close to his mercenary captain father even though they were far from one another.
Nyx seemed to only be messing things up as she tried to help him. Holter didn't mind, laughing with her as he followed behind to fix her work. The younger man's dark eyes were full of love for her. Holter was wiser than his years. As much as he may have wanted a monogamous relationship with Nyx, he had long ago accepted it wasn't in her nature. Holter cherished every moment he had with Nyx, but he'd never given her any problems when she'd went off with other men. I admired his self-control because I didn't share it.
As if thinking of the same thing, Cerin pulled me closer to him and kissed my hair.
“You're quiet,” I murmured.
“I'm letting you savor this moment,” he replied, motioning to Oeric. “You've wanted to come here for years.”
“I was supposed to come here with Bjorn,” I whispered. “If I had, we would have been happy and explored the town together. I want to do the same thing with you and the others. Bjorn wouldn't have wanted me to be sad when I came here. Let's create memories, Cerin.”
“Okay.” My lover moved behind me and leaned down to put his chin on my shoulder. “What memory do you want to create first?” He kissed the side of my neck.
“Let's focus on docking without crashing,” I suggested, motioning over to where Nyx and Holter were playfully fighting on the quarterdeck. Cerin chuckled beside my ear.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
I turned to the stairway leading below deck. In the doorway's shadow, a head full of blonde dreadlocks appeared first before a face of determination. Maggie used the hand railing for support as she hobbled up one stair at a time. Azazel was right behind her, observing her progress and reaching out as if to help.
“I told ya, I got it,” Maggie insisted, pulling herself onto the quarterdeck.
“I'm just here to help,” Azazel replied, pulling Maggie's trousers down over her prosthetic leg when the cloth caught on one strap securing it to her right thigh. As he did so, Maggie stared at me with a face of playful impatience, before throwing an arm toward him.
“Did I not just tell this man I had it under control?” she asked me.
“I'm pretty sure that's what you said,” I agreed, to which Azazel chuckled and shook his head.
“I'm sorry,” Azazel said, “but I can't just stand there and ignore it when you look like you need help.”
“What are ya gonna do if I tumble down those steps one day, love?” Maggie asked, crossing her arms and staring down at the archer. “Get squished, that's what you're gonna do. 'Cause ya couldn't keep that blue nose outta my business.”
Azazel exhaled slowly. “If you really want me to leave you alone, I will. I don't know how much of your irritation is playfulness and how much of it is pride.”
“Ah, it's a bit of both, innit?” Maggie wrinkled her nose with self-reflection and reached over to ruffle Azazel's slick black hair. “I appreciate your concern, love. You've been a great help throughout all this nonsense, but I gotta learn to do things myself, ya know? What happens if you're not there to help me one day?”
“Well, that got dark quickly,” Calder mused. He left the wheel of the ship to prepare to disembark.
“Ya know what I meant,” Maggie retorted lightly.
“I think I do know what you meant,” Azazel replied. “You're threatening to have me assassinated if I don't stop annoying you.”
Maggie chortled. “Maybe I am, love! Sure worked the last time, dinnit?” She raised her eyebrows at me, referring to Queen Tilda's assassination the previous year.
“I'd rather not go there, if you guys don't mind,” Calder spoke up, handing his ferris cigarette to Maggie as he passed her. The engineer immediately started smoking it herself.
“Sorry, love,” she offered. “Didn't mean to hit a sore spot.”
Calder shrugged off her apologies as he prepared to lower a rowboat beside the galleon's right hull. Oeric's docks were much too small for our ship, so we would have to switch vessels to get to shore.
“I appreciate all this extra work you're doing just to dock here,” I offered as Calder worked.
“Don't mention it, love,” he replied, though he was otherwise quiet. Talking about Tilda's assassination bothered him, for he felt guilty for the tragedy it had led to. Neither Calder nor Nyx had been there to see Altan's death half a year ago in Hallmar, and both had cared for him greatly. Personally, I was glad neither of them had been there. Seeing a good friend die in such a gory way shocked the senses, and because those of us who were there had shown restraint dealing with Altan's murderer, we were in a better place now militarily. If Calder and Nyx had witnessed Altan's death, I was sure things would be very different about now.
“Have you ever been here?” I asked Calder, speaking of Oeric.
“No,” he replied, glancing up toward the eastern ocean. “Koby and I traveled to Olympia before, just to see if we could. That was the farthest I'd ever been in Hammerton 'til a few years ago.”
“Just to see if you could?” Cerin questioned, noting his wording.
Calder nodded. “Yeah, I didn't like the idea of going around Chairel to get to Hammerton, so we took the southern route. Sailed all the way around Nahara and the beastlands to get there. Thought maybe the beasts of the beastlands extended out into the ocean, so we weren't sure we'd make it back alive.” He chuckled with the memory.
“Did you come across any beasts?” I asked him.
“Sure did. Not all of 'em were angry with us, either.” Calder lowered the small boat into the water via the pulleys on the side of the galleon. “Koby saw this huge fish just south of the beastlands. Thing could've eaten a kraken, but it didn't bother us.”
“Scared you, though, didn't it?” Cerin mused.
“To hell and back,” Calder chuckled, leaning over the side of the ship to make sure the boat was even as he lowered it.
“What were the beastlands like?” I asked.
“From what I saw of them?” Calder shrugged. “Like a wasteland. Not desert like Nahara. A lot of it was mud and rough land. Some plant-life, too, but few trees.” He glanced over at me and wiggled his eyebrows. “I'll take you there one day.”
“Azazel,” I called. When he looked at me, I said, “We're going to the beastlands.”
“Famous last words,” Azazel replied, to which we laughed.
“I'm serious, love,” Calder went on. “At the very least, we'll sail right by. It won't be anything to worry about.”
“Until you sink your ship,” Azazel retorted.
Calder shrugged playfully. “Yeah, well, then we'll have a couple of things to worry about.” He kicked a rope ladder off of the quarterdeck, and it hissed as it unraveled to hang above the rowboat. He grinned at me and made a swooping motion with his hand. “After you, love.”
Two
Oeric smelled of salt, fish, sweat, and raw metals. As we made our way from the shore to the mountain, many of the dwarves greeted us with quiet nods. Allied soldiers were posted throughout the town, leaning back against buildings and talking amongst themselves. A Vhiri soldier and dwarven civilian conversed near the docks, and the dwarf laughed boisterously, his voice echoing into the otherwise quiet morning. It gave me hope that our takeover would lead to something good and new. Vhiri and dwarves had always been at war, but now that they lived with each other, friendships were made as the cultures mixed.
I stopped yards away from the entrance of the inner town, my eyes scanning up the mountainside. My friends were quiet as they waited, and w
hen I turned to them, they watched me expectantly. I laughed softly and said, “I'm sorry. I don't know where to look.”
Calder shrugged. “We'll scour this town inch by inch if we have to.”
“Oeric's so little,” I mused, observing a handful of dwarves building a fishing boat near the coast. “The last thing I want to do is bore you all.”
“Bore us?” Calder scoffed. “You've spent the last how many years fighting this war after Bjorn's death? You've been there for all of us over the years, love. If anything, I'm interested in hearing more about this guy.”
“You would've liked him,” Nyx commented. “He was a good man. Had a great sense of humor. Really boisterous. Bjorn was the one who arrested me after I was there to assassinate Kai all those years ago. He was upset with me for obvious reasons, but after he heard Kai plead for my life, he came to talk to me about everything.”
I frowned at her. “Did you ever tell me this?”
Nyx shrugged. “I'm pretty sure I did. Maybe you've forgotten, or maybe it didn't mean as much to you at the time.”
“What'd he say?” I asked.
“Bjorn thanked me for not going through with it,” Nyx replied. “Told me you meant the world to him. Said something like how that put him in a predicament since I'd been sent to kill you, but you were trying to keep me from being executed. I told him I liked you. How you sympathized with my upbringing and I sympathized with yours. I may have cried a little.” She wrinkled up her nose at that admission. “Bjorn came through a few more times to interrogate me. Brought the asshole with him once or twice.”
“The asshole?” Calder asked for clarification.
“Yeah, Sirius.” Nyx shrugged. “Sirius's whole opinion on everything was that I would be executed, but he wanted to get as much information out of me as possible before then. Bjorn wanted me alive.”
“I told him you were my only friend,” I said. “After Cerin fled Sera the previous year, I had no one.”
Nyx nodded. “Yeah. Bjorn caved to make you happy. Sirius wasn't convinced until they brought in the illusionists and used mind-control. He didn't bring Bjorn for that one. Maybe he worried that I knew he was the one who hired me, and word would get out. Regardless, Bjorn argued for me once he heard that I had no idea who had hired me and how I didn't want to go back to the underground. I guess that's what got Sirius to let me go. But yeah, Bjorn was always sweet to me once he heard how much Kai liked me.”
Cerin spoke up from beside me, “Bjorn brought me extra food one night when I was in the dungeon.”
Nyx chuckled. “Yeah? He did the same for me.”
Cerin's silver eyes looked over the others as he explained, “The prisoners weren't fed much at all. Just enough to keep us alive until our executions.”
“I got a little slice of bread and a glass of water each day,” Nyx said, before nudging Cerin's arm. “What about you?”
Cerin nodded. “Same. There was a prisoner in there with me whose arms were shackled because he was a water mage and he kept giving the others extra water.”
“What was he in prison for?” Azazel questioned.
“He'd learned elemental magic from a friend who'd abandoned the Order of the Mages.”
“Why was he in prison for that?” Azazel asked.
“You have to have a magic license to practice in Chairel,” Cerin replied.
“I wish you would've pointed him out,” I told him. “I would have set him free while we were there.”
Cerin shook his head. “He was executed the night before you were there.”
“For not having a license?” Calder laughed humorlessly.
Cerin shrugged. “It was his third offense.”
Calder dug his hands in his trouser pockets and looked off to the west. “The more I learn about your home country, Kai, the more I hate it.”
“You've always expressed your hatred for it,” I commented, remembering his harsh words about Chairel years ago on the seas.
“Yeah, but that was because they fed our misandrist culture with their gold and banned shapeshifters,” Calder replied. “I had no idea the extent of their bullshit.”
“That's why you're here with me,” I said. “We will do something about it together.”
Calder narrowed his red eyes at me with playful suspicion. “Hey, I said those words to you in Tenesea.”
“You sure did. And then we liberated the underground.” I flicked him lovingly in the arm. “Maybe saying it was good luck.”
“Good luck or not, you'll be taking Chairel, love,” Calder replied. “Nothing can stop you.”
I smiled at his optimism. “You're right. Before then, though, let's find Bjorn's forge.”
Bjorn had been born in Oeric in Red Moon of 360, and he'd spent the first twenty-five years of his life here. He left Oeric in early 386 to travel to Sera. Though Bjorn was human, most of the populace in Oeric were dwarven. Since it had only been forty-three years after he'd left, I had hope that dwarves who had once known him would still be alive and well.
The moment I walked into the open entrance into Oeric's mountain, the morning sun pulled its rays back to make way for shadow. Oeric was built similarly to Mistral back in Eteri, for the open tunnel led into various paths which burrowed straight into the gray rock of the mountain. All of the light here was made of fire. Sconces along the walls not only kept the tunnel well-lit, but the heat from their flames warmed the area from the chilly Red Moon breezes just outdoors.
The gray rock opened to our right not long after we'd entered the tunnel. Shipments, imports, exports, and information was touted on a haphazardly made plaque above a desk molded straight from the rock. A middle-aged dwarf was behind the counter, flipping through a logbook as another dwarf waited on the other side. My friends and I got in line.
“Nope,” said the dwarf behind the desk. “If they've made it here, they haven't checked in yet. Try back in the evening.”
The woman just before us in line exhaled with frustration and left. I walked forward, and the dwarf behind the counter raised his eyebrows. Curious brown eyes went from my hair, to my eyes, to my rings. Given the circumstances of the takeover, I was used to dwarves regarding me with fear, resentment, or uncertainty. Here, however, there was nothing but intense curiosity.
“Kai Sera,” he said, before I could say anything at all. “What brings ya to Oeric?”
“I've come seeking information about my father from those who knew him best,” I informed him.
“None of us here know Sirius,” the dwarf replied. He observed me as he continued, “We have no love for yer father here.”
“Oh, I believe you do,” I said. “Bjorn spoke fondly of Oeric. We had plans to come visit together.”
The dwarf's serious face brightened. “Ah, so the rumors are true, then, aye?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Which ones?”
“We've heard for years that Bjorn was executed because he helped ya out in Sera,” the dwarf replied. “But we'd also heard all the negative rumors of ya. Didn't really know what to think. Didn't think Bjorn would help somebody out unless he thought they were worth it. Ya consider him yer pa?”
“Bjorn was my father,” I answered affirmatively. “Sirius never came close to deserving the title.”
The dwarf nodded. “Chairel shat on Bjorn's name after his death. Marked him as a traitor. A sympathizer of necromancers.”
“Bjorn was a sympathizer of necromancers,” I said softly. “After all, I'm one, and he loved me more than anything else in the world.”
The dwarf's eyes traveled over to my friends. “Bjorn was always open-minded. Treated everyone the same regardless of their backgrounds. I 'spose that extended to necromancy as much as it did with race and gender. Based on the people ya surround yerself with, I can see he had an effect on ya.”
“A giant one,” I affirmed. “Chairel has been paying for what they've done to him and Cerin here for the past decade.”
The dwarf laughed and raised his eyebrows at me. “Aye.
It's amazin' how much trouble ya've given 'em. Ain't nobody ever had the balls to get as far as ya have with it. Do me a favor, will ya?”
“I can try,” I replied.
“When ya kill Sirius, be sure to make it last, aye?”
A grin spread over my face. “I've spent over a decade fantasizing about killing him, friend. I will make it as traumatic for him as I can.”
“That's the spirit!” The dwarf chortled. “Now, I knew Bjorn, but only in passing. If ya want information from those who knew him best, I'd try Flint Stark. I believe Flint's the one who taught Bjorn all he knew about blacksmithin'.”
A spark of hope and relief flooded my chest. “Bjorn's trainer is alive? Bjorn told me he was old and crippled.”
“Aye. Still is,” the dwarf chuckled.
Thanks to the dwarf's directions, we were soon standing before a metal door a few floors up in Oeric's mountain with a sign beside it that said Stark's Smithy. Though Oeric received shipments of wood from Griswald, it relied more on the metal from its mines. It was yet another reason the architecture here reminded me of Mistral.
My knuckles tapped on the steel. I heard no response for a few moments, so I looked back at Azazel. He held up one finger, indicating he heard a noise on the other side and that I should wait.
The door cracked open, and a young woman glanced out at us, frowning as she noticed we weren't dwarves. “Can I help ya?” She questioned, eyeing my red hair.
“I'm here to see Flint Stark,” I told her. “I've heard he's the one I need to speak to about Bjorn Berg.”
