Fireborn Champion (11 page)

Iron nearly believed the story himself. It was a good lie. The ones threaded with truth often were. He didn’t know if that put him any more at ease with this strange Rabwian woman or made her true motives more suspect.

Caspran smirked. He opened his palm, and the glinting blade returned to its master, slipping within the folds of his wraps. “I like your style. To be honest, I think you weren’t harsh enough on this Elof. Then again, I could not hope one of your kind to ever meet my expectations.”

“What—what will you do now?” she asked.

“Well, your friend was correct on the account of my birds’ message. There is something in Skaard I need, and I believe it to be in Ormhild.”
 

He strolled to the stairs and began his ascent. He paused at the last stair and turned to Ayska. “But if it is not, you would serve me and your king well to keep an eye out.”

“And what should I have my eye on?”

“Two men; one in the middle of his years and one fresh into his manhood. The elder one has a scar on the side of his jaw. He wears black and favors a hood. I suspect the other also cloaks himself in black. They are heretics who fancy themselves priests of the old religion. They have cast aside the Serpent Sun and seek to harm our king. They spew the heresy of the gods High King Sol destroyed.”

I guess he was too good for Good King Sol
, Iron surmised. More power, better titles. That was the way of royalty. But this fall of the Six Iron kept hearing, that concerned him. No king on Urum could destroy the gods. The alp could not destroy them. The titans couldn’t even do the deed. This Godfall required more investigation.

“I will be vigilant in my wanderings throughout the Sapphire Sea,” Ayska said.

“Indeed you will.” Caspran dug into his wraps and produced a gold coin. “I will hunt you down and personally make this Kalila thing suffer horrendously if you don’t. Once I’m done with your pet, then perhaps I’ll do to you what you did to Elof. Only slower, so I can savor your pain.”

He tossed the coin at Ayska. It landed and spun, reflecting the light until it thunked onto the floor. “Take that,” he said, “you will need to carry it on your person at all times should you find yourself in Eloia.”

Caspran disappeared outside, leaving only an angled shaft of sunlight and frigid winds in his wake. Shadows fluttered through the light, birds crying as they took flight. Their calls faded and left them alone in the cabin.
 

Ayska stood and searched the room with a frown on her face. She turned to Kalila and embraced the woman, the captain’s arms barely fitting around the other’s waist. Kalila smiled and hugged Ayska, flashing a crooked tooth between her teeth.

Iron forced Sander out of their hiding space, and the crate of potatoes toppled over and spilled their contents on the floor. One of the potatoes rolled across the floorboards and bumped into Ayska’s foot. She released her sister and glared at the two men.

“I half expected to find you two stuffed inside grain sacks pissing your pants. The gods must shine on you if they kept that demon’s eye from finding you out. He’s not known for overlooking things.”

“The air around him was cold,” Iron said, shuddering. “He’s not…right in the head.”

“Yes, spewing heretical nonsense tends to spoil one’s brain,” Sander added. “Caspran’s been spewing it for longer than you’ve been alive.”

“If that was Caspran Bilshabel, then is he an alp and not a man?” Iron asked, looking between his master and Ayska.
 

Ayska took a deep breath and nodded, as did Sander. Iron saw the questions squirming on her tongue, fighting against the tight line of her lips. He had his own. Maybe in time, they’d both get answers.

Iron smiled and crossed his arms. “You tell a good story, Ayska.”
 

“You mean I’m a good liar? Yes, yes I am.”

Iron uncrossed his arms. “I didn’t mean—” He had to stifle a groan. “Who is Kalila? A friend of yours? Sounds like you’d do anything for her.”

“Of course I would.” Ayska turned to the woman. Gently, so gently, she clasped Kalila’s enormous wrists, rubbing them with her thumb. “There is nothing on Urum more precious than her. She is my sister.”

A day at sea settled into night. Iron wished his stomach would do the same. He’d never spent time on ground that lurched, ground that moved, ground that promised a world of swimming, writhing things lurking just beneath a dark and rippling surface.
 

He stood at the stern, sick in the cheeks and stomach twisted into oily knots. He’d lost its contents several times over. Maybe some fish beneath the dark waters would find more use for his food than his body had.
 

Exhausting didn’t begin to describe his first day on the open sea. He’d always thought of sailing differently. Better.
Smoother
. Not this world of up and downs and salty sea spray and howling winds. At least the sun kept him warm until it vanished beneath the horizon.
 

The moon was a watchful eye high overhead. It cast a silver light revealing the edges of thin clouds drifting through the night. Beyond the moon’s shining crown, bright stars glittered and gave the formless black enchantment.
 

He breathed in the salty air, licking it from his dry lips. He closed his eyes and listened to the sea as it sighed like a sleeping mother. If he imagined the ship as a cradle and he as a babe, it almost calmed his stomach. Surely, he’d been cradled as a child. Surely his mother cared enough to do that before she abandoned him.

“Iron?” Sander’s voice drifted from behind.

“I’m here.” Iron turned as his master strolled up the steps leading to the main deck.
 

The man held a steaming cup in his hands and pressed it against Iron’s chest. “Take this. It should help until you get your sea legs.”

Rank wisps of bitter root and stale water accosted his nostrils. Iron grimaced, and his stomach gurgled.

“Just take it,” Sander said with an eye roll. “Sailors call what you have squid belly because it feels like that’s what your stomach’s full of. Take this brew to kill the squids and keep your stomach settled. Can’t have you trotting around Urum on an empty stomach, can we?”
 

Iron pinched his nose and gulped the liquid. It washed in a warm wave through his stomach, and the knots untied. A smile crept across his face as he considered the empty cup. “What was that?”

“Just a little tonic recipe I picked up from Thyra a long time ago. Would you like dinner? Ayska invited us to eat with her and the crew. It might be a good chance to get to know them, maybe even ferret out some of the truths from the lies about why they really sail these seas.”

“So you don’t trust her even after she kept us secret from Caspran?”

Sander visibly shuddered at the name. “She scored a few points, that’s for sure. Do I trust her? Not yet. We’ve been gone too long from the world. We’re both little children wandering a battlefield. It’s not a good feeling to have. Still, we’ll need allies if we’re to survive. Perhaps these people will turn out to be them. You and I both heard the things she said. The way she spoke about the Serpent Sun—they were mighty convincing if they fooled an alp. I’m not sure yet if that makes her an exceptional liar or us exceptional fools. Maybe both.”

They headed downstairs to the main deck. The seas calmed as the night deepened, and the
Scarlet Widowmaker’s
wild rocking calmed to a gentle sway. Wind played with the sails, giving them their own flapping, rippling waves. Oil lamps affixed to the masts cast gold over a long table placed on deck. Six chairs lined each of its long sides with a single chair at the head.
 

The crew filled the table, save for the head seat and the two seats beside it. Iron supposed he’d been too busy with his own nausea to notice them set this table for dinner. During the day, the crew was little more than annoying background noise. Now, they sat quietly and whispered to one another, their glares flicking to the strangers joining them for dinner.

A new kind of fear blossomed in Iron as he met their stares. They were dark eyes, eyes that glittered with suspicion. Every man and woman at the table bore a litany of scars like Ayska’s. Life had peeled these men and women apart and stitched them back together into something harder. He didn’t belong there, sitting in a place of honor without a single scar to show for it.

Sander nudged him to the table, and they took a seat across from one another. The man with an X scarred over his face sat next to Iron. What was his name? Vigal, Ayska called him. Vigal’s fierce eyes washed up and down Iron. The man rested his arms on the table. One hand held a rough fork. The other held a knife made for cutting. It had probably cut more things than Vigal’s meals in its time.

“Get yer sea legs, lad?” the sailor asked, arching a brow. The scars on his face warped in an odd way, and his blue eye bulged.

Iron smiled with his lips closed and nodded. “I did.” He took a breath—and a chance. “Thank you for helping us.”

The sailor snorted. “Cap’n tells me you hid right well from Caspran. Says you’re men ‘o the Slippery Sinner. That true?”

“It is. We serve him. I’ve heard that’s rare these days.”

“There’s good reason it’s rare. You know he died, right? Dead as my poor mum, he is. Shame that.”
 

“The Godfall.” Iron finally looked straight at the man, hands pressed against his lap. “You can’t kill gods, though. The Six are immortal.”

“The titans thought they could. So did the alp. Maybe it took a man to finally do it. They say Sol sits on a throne on the Mother’s head. If that’s not a sign a god’s dead, I don’t know what is.” Vigal leaned back in his seat and folded his hands behind his head. He looked into the stars and smirked. “Ain’t no one seen magic in years. That’s how you know they died. Either that, or they got scared and abandoned us mortal folk. Either way, they don’t give a spit about Urum anymore.”

“That’s not true. They care about every living creature. They are the true gods of Urum.”

“Priests,
hah!
Ayska shoulda’ listened to us. You’ll have us back in chains or worse if you stay on the
Widowmaker
more than a night or two. We’ve got half a mind to stuff you two in a barrel and send you to the sea. We’ve got a more important mission than ferrying fools hunted by the king and his hound.”

The woman across form Vigal shushed the man with an angry glare. She had a combative look about her and the deepest laugh lines Iron had ever seen—not that he’d seen that many. She wore her straw blond hair in a tight bun and bore bare shoulders textured by glyph scars.

Vigal quieted, blushing. “Sorry, Fiolle.”

Iron traded glances with Sander. They waited under the stars and flapping sails until the freshly-repaired door leading below deck swung open and out stepped Ayska Masrari.
 

She moved quiet as a wraith to the main deck and took her seat at the head of the table. “She’s asleep, thank the gods. Today’s been hard for her.”

“It’s been hard for all of us,” Vigal said.

“It has. Now eat and drink, you cursed sailors!” Ayska raised an oversized mug spotted with rust, the crew did the same, and the quiet that pervaded the ship clattered to the deck under the weight of the crew’s laughter.

Sander swiped his mug and took a sip. His eyes widened as he smacked his lips. “Whoa there. Saltwater gin? Haven’t had that in years.” He coughed and tapped his chest with a fist. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Iron raised his cup, but Sander yanked it from him. “Unless you want to find yourself doubled over the railing, I suggest you save the gin for another day.”

With a longing look at the drink now in Sander’s hands, Iron leaned back in his chair. Captain Ayska eyed him with a little grin tugging on her lip. She pulled her thick braids behind her and leaned forward, sipping the gin in her mug. Its pungent aroma reeked of pine and spice as her breath carried it into the open. “You two hid very well from Caspran. How’d you manage to stay out of sight so long?”

“We had a helpful distraction,” Iron said. “We’re Sinner’s men. Shadows are our thing.”

“It wasn’t magic then?”

“Mostly potatoes and rice.” He rested his arms on the table and leaned closer to her. “Is magic really that rare these days? There are no priests who use the power of the gods?”

Ayska smirked and took another sip. “No, I don’t guess there are, or if they do, they’re being a bunch of fucking cowards and hiding while the rest of the world suffers under the king and his serpents.”

Iron chuckled and leaned away. He hoped it looked natural enough.
 

“So tell me a little more about yourselves. What brings Iron and Sander to Ormhild, then so quickly forces them from its shores?”

“That’s funny, I was about to ask you how a Rabwian ship captain came all the way to Skaard and just happened to start eavesdropping on our conversation while holding the answer to all our problems.”

She cocked her head and pressed her hand against her chest, mockingly surprised. “Why, it’s all pure coincidence. Maybe the Six led me there.”

“Not likely.”

“You’re right, it’s not. You heard what I said when I killed Elof. That’s why we sail the seas. That’s why we go port to port. We’ve got names on a list, and we won’t stop until we’ve crossed every single one of those slavers who clapped us in chains off it.”

A quest for vengeance against slavers didn’t feel right to him. He didn’t want to spend his years of freedom leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. “Where are you taking us?” Iron looked to Sander. “Has she told you?”

“Nope.” Red colored Sander’s cheeks, and his eyes had a glassy sheen. The man was probably exhausted from pulling Iron through snow drifts and running through Ormhild. He was thirsty at least, judging by the swigs he kept taking of that odd gin.

“You keep asking about us, but I don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know where we’re going.”

“We’re going where I want us to go. I’m captain!” She raised her cup, and the other sailors did the same. They all had those glassy eyes and cherry cheeks. Iron didn’t like it. Not because he didn’t like the crew—Well, maybe he didn’t actually like them, but they didn’t know that. No, he didn’t like it because even Sander joined in on their fun and Iron couldn’t. He sat at the table, but he couldn’t be farther from it.