Fireborn Champion (8 page)

“Blasted bay gulls,” Sander said as they took another switchback down. “Don’t look up if they’re flying over you. I swear to all the gods they take a certain sick pleasure in relieving themselves on unsuspecting folk.”

“Thanks for the advice. Which ship are we taking?”

“Well aren’t you an anxious little sailor.”

“Did I imagine those alarms in the crevasse?”

“If only. Hells if I know about the ship though. We’ve got to find a captain willing to take us first. Now that Thyra’s rang the bells, it might be smarter to hole up a few days in a seedy inn. They’ll expect us to flee first thing. I doubt they’ll search the city.”

A group of men shoved their way between Sander and Iron, knocking him flat on his backside. One grumbled, turning to him with smug spite in his eyes. They didn’t offer a hand; they didn’t apologize. They simply pressed their way up the switchback.

Iron struggled to his feet and brushed the snow and dirt from his palms. He headed down, noticing Sander hadn’t waited for him until he arrived at the beach.
 

Skaard’s shiny wonder dulled in Iron’s eyes. He smelled the reek of old fish and rotten garbage drifting on a wind soured by human waste. The people wore filthy, matted furs and filthy, scowling faces. This was the world he’d longed to see?

“I don’t like this place,” Iron whispered, rejoining his master. “I—I miss home.”

“Home is gone now, most likely. I’m sorry, Iron, but we’ll never be able to go back there thanks to those wolves.”

No, not the wolves. Thanks to m
e. Iron clenched his jaw.
I just
had
to go see them
.

Throngs filled the black beach, moving like rivers of fur and flesh from the docks and buildings. Heat ran hot hands up Iron’s neck as the crowd closed around him. He found himself nearly stepping on his master’s heels, repeating the Ten Wisdoms of the Sinner for strength.

They reached a building much like the rest with a sign brandishing a twisted, three-pronged weapon.
 
“Ah, here we are.” Sander spun on his heel and spread his arms with a grin. “Welcome to the Dancing Harpoon, Skaard’s shittiest of taverns. Follow my lead. The people in there’re going to be far less friendly than the ones out here.”

Iron’s heart sunk. He took a deep breath and bounded up the steps after his master. Sander reached the door and ripped it open, and they stepped inside.

The Dancing Harpoon’s main room filled fully half the structure. At the far end, a bar lined with barrels easily large enough to fit a well-fed man formed a wall separating the main room from the rest of the inn. Thick pillars supported the roof on either side, their wood carved into intricate designs of mythical sea creatures. At one time, the carvings probably impressed the inn’s guests. Now, nicks, splinters, and carved curse words made them records of years of drunken nights. Harpoon-shaped lanterns lit the room in a warm glow, and the low, constant thrum of patrons relaxed the atmosphere.
 

Iron sniffed the air. A hint of vomit wafted from the floorboards. Lovely.

Sander headed to a long table. At one end, six men hunched over the wood with dented cups filled with foaming liquid. They spoke in low laughs and grumbles, their drinks sloshing on hairy blond knuckles.

Iron grabbed his master’s arm. “Not that table.”
 

“But—”

“Please, Sander. I’ve had enough of these people. We shouldn’t be trying to make friends anyway, remember?”

Sander smirked and headed to a smaller table tucked against the wall. The table sat just far enough between two lanterns to avoid most of their flickering light. Iron took a deep breath and pressed his hands flat against the warped wood. “I wish we could leave today. There wouldn’t be so many people on a ship, would there? Maybe once the danger—”

“
Ethe Rabwi veranon omshawaii
,” Sander cut in.

Iron cleared his throat and thought back to his lessons. His master loved Rabwi because only a few remote tribes skirting the Simmering Sands spoke the tongue, so using it would keep their words a mystery to any curious listeners in the North. Iron nodded and glanced around. It looked like a few of the patrons had looked their way, their beady eyes glinting in lamplight. He didn’t know if they really did look suspicious or if it was just the way people naturally appeared in the wider world.
 

“
Ethe Rabwi
,” Iron said with a nod, switching to the tongue. “How many days will we stay here until it’s safe? It smells awful inside.”

Sander hung an arm on the back of his seat. “Eh, probably two or three. We can lay low and be fine. Skaard is a free land. Free lands aren’t exactly known for their strict law enforcement, no matter what the Council of Ice and Steel wants people to believe.”

“But how do you know it’s safe here?” Iron’s narrowed stare cast about. “It looks opposite that.”

“The more dangerous a place looks, the more likely the authorities don’t often frequent it. Besides, I’ve met the owner before. He’s no friend to the city watch.”

Iron rolled his eyes as he leaned against the back of his seat. “Like you knew Thyra? What did she mean when she said there’s a reason you haven’t come around? And why is everyone so afraid of King Sol and his alps? And what was that Godfall she was talking about?”

“It was easier to worship the Six when the priests could all…” He leaned closer to Iron. “…Do what we can. And that cursed king is no ordinary heretic. He’s something much darker, and the alp that serve him aren’t just powerful warriors. They are wicked, wicked creatures, Iron. Pray you never meet one.”

“Have you?”

Sander gave him a blank stare. “That’s not important.”

“You have then, but you just don’t want to tell me. How am I supposed to prepare for the future when you won’t say a word about your past or mine? I don’t even know where I come from, who my parents were.”

“This is not the place for this conversation,” Sander hissed, pointing a finger at Iron. “Everything I do, I do for your wellbeing. You’ll learn all you need when the time is right. And stop being a baby about it! My teats are fresh out of milk, sorry.”

“The time—”

“Hush!”

 
“Will never—”
 

“I said quiet!”

“Be
right
!” Iron slammed his fist on the table, his cheeks full of fire.
 

Only then did he realize the inn had gone silent. All eyes turned to the two dark-haired men sitting in the shadows. Iron’s heart drummed against his ribs. He looked down, searching the ground.
 

Sander plastered on a smile and laughed, patting Iron’s shoulder. Iron cocked his head and met his master’s angry gaze with his own, mirroring the false smile and hollow laughs.

“Watch that temper, boy,” Sander said out of the corner of his grin.

Iron’s false smile widened as he nodded. “You’ll have to tell me the truth one of these days.”

The room reanimated, the low thrum of voices continuing. Sander took a deep breath through his nose and slid from his seat. “I’m going to get some frostbite ale,” he said, once again using Common. “Learn to control that temper, and trust the one who’s raised you. He might actually want to do what’s right by those who loved and lost you, okay?”

The man turned and sauntered to the bar, signaling the inn keep. Iron pressed his elbows against his knees and rubbed his temples. He shouldn’t have let his anger control him, but being kept in the dark about so much of such importance sent his blood into a boil. It was like Sander had taught him every useful skill in the world but denied him the knowledge of how to actually live in it.

“Your Rabwi is heavily accented but surprisingly good,” a woman said in a tone weighed with her amusement.
 

Iron started and nearly tumbled from his seat. A figure sat at a table an arm’s reach away, wrapped in furs unfamiliar to those he’d seen worn by Skaard natives. The light washed across her face and revealed her.

Iron’s jaw went slack. “You’re a woman! I—I, ah, wow.” He could have slapped himself. “I mean, I know…”

The woman smiled, her finger tracing over the lip of her foam-capped mug. She had full cheeks and a pointed chin, above which her polished lips rested. Eyes as dark and round as mountain lakes at midnight twinkled with the sly playfulness of a snow leopard while hinting at the predator who had them. She wore her hair in braids so thick they could have been rope. The strands fell in a wave over the right side of her head and disappeared in the hood of her fur coat.

She smirked and took a drink. “You act like you’ve never seen a girl before.”

He hadn’t save for Thyra, but admitting to it suddenly seemed like the worst idea in the world. “I, ah…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What do you want?”
 

Iron winced. He could clash wits with Sander any day. Why not this stranger?

“Aside from knowing why two odd foreigners who obviously aren’t Rabwian are chatting in my native tongue? Oh, I want a great many things.” She lifted a finger and started counting. “Fame, glory, revenge, maybe a nice, warm island one day if I ever get old enough to have grey hair. I guess that depends on how well the revenge goes, but that’s another story.”

Iron stiffened. The things he and Sander had spoke of sent a jolt of panic through him. “How long were you sitting there?”

“The name’s Ayska Masrari, and aren’t you just the perfect gentleman? Are you always this hostile to damsels looking for a little idle chat?”

“It hasn’t been the warmest welcome since we arrived.”

“And where did you arrive from? You’re dressed somewhat like the locals but…darker, almost priestly, if I’m bold enough to guess.”

“We’re from nowhere important.”

“Oh, a mystery? Well, now I can’t go anywhere until I’ve solved it.”

If this was what he could expect from women, he didn’t know if he would like it. Frustration balled a tight knot in his chest. “I’d like to keep my life a mystery if it’s all the same. Have a good day, Ayska Masrari.” He turned from her and interlaced his fingers on the table, staring at the bar where Sander haggled with the owner.

Her stare weighed on him. She lingered in her seat when she needed to leave. No matter how beautiful she looked, he didn’t need some irritating criminal or huckster or whatever she was dogging them.
 

“The alarm bells they use here are very interesting,” she said. “They have special padding on them. The sound still travels, but it isn’t loud enough to disturb the ice. That’s Ormhild’s weakness. A fleet full of brass bells could very well topple the unconquerable city. Tell me, my friend, did those bells ring for you today?”

Iron’s cheeks warmed. He pressed his hands tighter against the table. He could reach his sword if she called the guards, but by then, the whole inn would swarm them. He might even have to kill her. He’d never murdered before. The thought sickened him, and he found himself wanting to go home more than ever.

“I hate this place,” he mumbled.

“I’m no fan of it either. It’s cold, people smell…” Ayska leaned in and swatted his arm. “…There’re a hundred ways to say snow in Skaard and no word for bath.” She winked and leaned back. “Luckily, I’ve got a solution to your problems.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She pursed her lips and waited. When he didn’t reply, she sighed. “Will you at least tell me your name?”

“Iron,” he blurted, immediately regretting that he did.

“An odd name, but I’m glad you’ve given it to me. Listen, Iron, I’m not your enemy, but if what I heard was—”
 

“What did you hear?” He shot her an angry glare. “What. Did. You. Hear?”

“Ease up, little bay gull. I heard you talking about the alp, and it caught my attention since I happen to know they’re on their way to Ormhild as we speak.”

Iron’s eyes widened. No small part of him wanted to see the demons of the Second Sun firsthand. Then again, he’d wanted to see the wolves and look where that got him. By the way Sander spoke of them, the wolves were the preferable enemies.
 

“They’re really coming here?”

“They’ll be here any day now, led by the king’s hound, Caspran Bilshabel.” She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Wasn’t sure what they were searching for when I heard the news, but now I think I know it’s not what they hunt, but who. I’m here for a weapon to stop the king, but I guess I might’ve picked up a couple passengers instead. The Six work in mysterious ways.”

“You can’t tell anyone. Please, don’t raise the alarm.”

“I’m no friend of that slime heretic. In fact, you can count yourself lucky you found me. Tell your babysitter that you’ve secured a way to open sea, but if you want safe passage, we’ve got to go now.”

“But the guards—”

“Aren’t priests of the Loyal Father. They won’t be walking on water to catch us, and I swear on the Six there’s no vessel on the Sapphire Sea faster than my
Scarlet Widowmaker
, certainly not one of those Skaard rafts they try and pass for seafaring vessels.”

“Who is this?” Sander demanded. Iron hadn’t notice his master approach. Now the man stood behind her, clutching a mug dripping foam on the floor.

“Her name’s Ayska Masrari. She says the alp are coming. She says unless we go with her, we’re dead men. She also called you my babysitter. I don’t like her very much.”

Sander cocked a grin and faced the woman. “Looks like we’ve found ourselves a pretty little gem here, haven’t we? You’ll have to beg a thousand of my pardons, but there’s no way in all the hells we’d ever prance right into your arms. Your arrival’s just a little too convenient, don’t you think?”

Ayska opened her mouth to speak as Iron stood and did the same, hoping to cut her off before she had a chance to object. The inn door crashed open, flooding the warm room with the harsh white of a wintry sky. Three looming figures blotted quickly blotted that light. Their shadows stretched over the floor. They muscled through the doorway, each footfall heavy as a tree limb falling to the ground.

Iron couldn’t make them out, but his heart dropped a few inches when they spotted Iron’s little group and set their eyes on them.