Sorcery of a Queen

by Brian Naslund

  “Good.” Cumberland moved to the map of Almira that the navigator had next to the table. Took a moment to orient himself, then pointed. “Right here. There’s a lake.”

  “It’s not on my chart,” Quinn said, frowning. “All I have is forest.”

  “Trust me, it’s there.”

  “By your orders.” Septimus produced a steel compass divider and Quinn helped him plot a course—sounding off expected wind levels and a bunch of esoteric prattle about atmospheric conditions and humidity. When that was done, Septimus consulted his orb and gyro compass. Nodded. “Make a heading for nineteen degrees south-southeast.”

  Jolan did his best to adjust the ship based on those orders.

  “How long will it take to get there?” Shoshone asked.

  “There’s a strong headwind that’s throttling our speed.” Quinn consulted his charts. “But we should arrive in ten hours and nineteen minutes.”

  33

  VERA

  Almira, Floodhaven, Castle Malgrave

  Once Vera was satisfied with the castle security, she went down to the Floodhaven dock, where Osyrus Ward and four of his acolytes were unloading his machine from the cargo hold of the Blue Sparrow.

  The machine was shaped like a massive and irregular seashell with three large conical openings. It was heavy enough that the four acolytes’ arm muscles strained hard from the effort of moving it. Vera glanced into one of the openings, which contained the standard morass of pipes and gears and wires that she’d become accustomed to seeing tangled around Osyrus Ward’s creations.

  On one side of the machine, there was also a flat panel with scores of white buttons made from dragon bones. Each button had a small number scratched above it.

  “This is our defense against the Balarian armada?”

  “Indeed. And we are almost ready to turn it on. Just finishing the fueling process.”

  The machine was connected to a vat of dragon oil the size of a roadside inn. The acolytes had spent the last few hours carrying Linkon Pommol’s entire cache of dragon-oil barrels to the vat and pouring them in.

  “A pump apparatus would have been preferable, of course,” said Ward. “But it was far too heavy to transport across the Soul Sea.”

  “How does the machine work?”

  “The system uses a complicated network of synthetically oriented lodestones to activate machinery from long distances and override the navigation equipment of the skyship armada.”

  “What?”

  “It is easier to show you. We are ready to begin.”

  Vera glanced up at the castle, where Kira was sleeping. She’d sent Decimar to guard her while the machine was turned on. If things went sideways, he had orders to sneak Kira out of Floodhaven and take her to a hidden grove a few leagues north of the city where Vera would meet them.

  “All right,” Vera said. “Go ahead.”

  Osyrus Ward barked a few orders to his acolytes, who moved to the vat of dragon oil. They turned a few circular wheels, which brought the machine pumping to life—all the internal gears churning. Pipes rattling. The piney smell of burning dragon oil quickly overpowered the salty scent of the sea. Vera watched as a fortune in dragon oil was burned in a matter of minutes.

  Ward checked a few dials and gears on his machine’s main panel, nodded to himself, and then yanked down on a large, copper lever.

  A deep, booming vibration blasted from the openings of the machine. Vera’s ears popped, and the waves around the harbor shimmered the way a puddle shakes from a heavy boot slamming into the ground next to it.

  The machine went quiet.

  “Did it break?” Vera asked. “Nothing is happening.”

  “Not here,” Osyrus said. “But inside of every skyship that I built, I can assure you, things are getting lively.”

  34

  JOLAN

  Almira, Aboard the Time’s Daughter

  “I didn’t touch anything!” Jolan shouted. They’d flown for hours without incident, but he’d suddenly lost control. “It changed course by itself.”

  “That isn’t possible,” Quinn said, studying his instruments. “You must have touched something. The skyships don’t fly themselves.”

  “This one does!”

  Jolan tried to jerk the wheel back in place, but even with a grunt and a curse and then Oromir’s help, it refused to move. “It’s locked in place. The pedals, too, no matter how hard I press. I don’t understand.”

  “Which direction are we heading?” Shoshone asked Septimus.

  He studied his charts for a moment.

  “Floodhaven,” he said. “We’re heading directly to Floodhaven.”

  “Why would the ship fly itself there?”

  Septimus swallowed. “Oh, no. This is not good.”

  35

  VERA

  Almira, Floodhaven, Castle Malgrave

  “Why would we want to bring every ship in the Balarian armada to Floodhaven?” Vera shouted after Osyrus Ward explained what was about to happen.

  “Can’t delay the inevitable,” Osyrus said, checking a few more dials and gauges.

  “I need to get to Kira,” Vera said.

  “That will not be necessary,” Ward said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because the Balarian naval dress code requires that all crew members wear their military-issued uniform at all times while they are aboard a skyship, even while they are sleeping. A precaution, in case of a sudden attack.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Ward didn’t respond. He turned around, gazing at the western horizon. “Ah, we have our first arrival. The Time’s Daughter, which Actus Thorn ordered to guard the far coast. It will also have my other engine prototype, which will be most useful for future projects.” Osyrus turned to one of his acolytes. “What number?”

  “Frigate Seven,” the man responded, voiced muffled by his mask.

  “Seven,” Osyrus repeated, moving back to the massive panel of buttons. “Seven, seven, seven.”

  He found the button he was looking for and pressed down with his knobby finger.

  36

  JOLAN

  Almira, Aboard the Time’s Daughter

  There was a crushing noise—almost like glass shattering, but more metallic. Quinn grunted, then fell over.

  Jolan turned, saw a huge amount of blood pooling underneath his body.

  “Is he okay?” Oromir asked.

  Jolan leaned out of his chair. Felt his pulse.

  “No. He’s dead.”

  “How?”

  Jolan looked at the wall behind the place where the navigator had been standing. There was a splotch of gore pressed into the steel—a few bones from his spine and blue lung tissue.

  “I think his clock exploded.”

  Willem started laughing.

  “What’s funny?” Cumberland growled.

  “Oh, c’mon. It serves the clock-worshipping bastard right, getting killed by his own timepiece.”

  “Laugh it up while you can,” said Sten. “Because we’re still stuck on this skyship, and it is still heading for a city full of people who will kill us on sight.”

  The ship was speeding above the thick forest that surrounded Floodhaven. As they approached, the city outline became clearer.

  “Is that another skyship?” Iko asked, pointing at the horizon. “It’s so small.”

  “The empress’s royal ship,” Septimus said. “So, it’s true. They really stole it. But that means…”

  “Means what?”

  By way of response, the navigator abandoned his controls and moved toward a big console in the center of the room. He used the captain’s seal to unlock a panel, then pulled out a long metal tray that was connected to dozens of wires and tubes leading deeper into the ship. Septimus plucked a glowing orb out of the machinery, then ripped the wires free from their connections.

  The engines went quiet beneath them. Overhead, there was a loud, pressured hiss.

  “What did you just do?”

/>   “Removed the Kor and dumped our levitation mixtures,” Septimus replied.

  They coasted forward for a few quiet moments. Then the sails lost their wind and the ship began to sink.

  “Okay,” Septimus said calmly. “We are now going to crash.”

  “By the fucking gods, this is getting ridiculous.” Willem started digging around behind his breastplate for his seashell. “First we’re climbing up the wire, then we’re flying across Almira like a bunch of fucking geese, now we’re crashing. Whole thing’s some kind of cruel joke.”

  “There isn’t a way to keep it flying?” Jolan asked. “I can feel pressure in the pedals again.”

  “Latent energy in the released coils, that’s all. The ship is powerless now. But that means the Madman can’t get to us.”

  “The Madman?”

  “It doesn’t matter. All hands to the captain’s quarters!”

  “Why?”

  “He kept a lot of pillows in there. With some luck, a few of us might survive.” Septimus rushed into the cabin, and everyone else followed. But Jolan struggled to get out of the cockpit.

  “Jolan, get out of there!” Cumberland shouted.

  “My pants are stuck on something,” he said, kicking at the machinery. “Damn Balarian uniform is all baggy.”

  Oromir’s strong hands were underneath his armpits a moment later, yanking him backward. The fabric on his uniform tore, but didn’t give.

  “It’s no good. Get one of the scalpels from my bag. Over there.”

  “Which one?” Oromir asked, rooting through the sack.

  “I don’t care, just give me one.”

  Oromir snatched the first scalpel he found in the bag and rushed back. Gave it to Jolan, who sliced the caught fabric away using the same technique that Morgan had taught him for removing armor from an injured warden. His leg slipped free. Oromir hauled him out.

  They rushed toward the captain’s cabin—hands clasped together.

  But the ship crashed into the forest before they got there.

  37

  VERA

  Almira, Floodhaven, Castle Malgrave

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Osyrus Ward said, still looking at the stretch of sky that had been occupied by a skyship a moment earlier. “By the way it crashed, it looked as if the Kor was disconnected from the primary combustion port. But by whom? Perhaps one of my clocks misfired?”

  “A known risk,” one of his acolytes rasped from behind him.

  “Yes. Quite. I will investigate the logs at a later date. For now, there is nothing to be done but proceed.”

  Osyrus pressed all the remaining buttons on his massive machine. Dragon bones clicked. The apparatus whirred. “There we go.”

  “What did that do?” Vera asked.

  “Overloaded the lodestone mechanisms of the clocks I built inside of the new breastplates, causing an acute and powerful release of energy,” Ward said, distracted by a smudge of dirt on one of the buttons he’d just pushed.

  “What does that mean?”

  “That upon the arrival of the fleet, our largest problem will be cleaning up the mess inside of those airships.”

  38

  ASHLYN

  Ghost Moth Island, the Proving Ground

  When Simeon returned, Ashlyn had his glove waiting for him just outside the bars of her cage. She sat cross-legged in the middle of her enclosure, waiting.

  He came into the room without a word. His lackeys filed in behind them. All of them carrying those repeating crossbows. Ashlyn noticed that while some were in strong working order, many were rusted and bent and looked like they could barely fire one bolt, let alone multiples in quick succession.

  “Doesn’t look much different,” Simeon said, eyeing the glove.

  “The lodestone’s orientation to the armor’s centralized current was damaged. All that I needed to do was calibrate one of the spares and install it as a replacement.”

  The interconnected system of lodestones was an incredible invention. For the prototype armor, they were placed in close proximity to each other, but if Ashlyn’s calculations were correct, the lodestones could retain their connection across massive distances if the orientation signal was boosted by enough power.

  “Lot o’ big words in those two sentences. How do I know you ain’t making them up?”

  “Put the glove on and test it,” Ashlyn said.

  Simeon smiled. “Boys.”

  His men fanned out and leveled their crossbows at her.

  “Their orders are clear as a mountain lake,” Simeon said to her. “If I put this on and feel even the slightest pinch of discomfort, they’re gonna porcupine you like they did your lizard-killer lover. You still want me to put it on?”

  “I want you to stop wasting time.”

  “Huh. For royalty, you got some salt. I will give you that.”

  Simeon picked up the glove and slipped it over his fingers. Snapped the clasps around his wrist. There was a shudder and hum from the armor. The Ghost Moth scales tightened to fit perfectly around his hand. He flexed and relaxed his fist. Wiggled his fingers.

  “Better than before,” he murmured, still looking at his hand. “More responsive.”

  “The old lodestone’s charge was weakened from frequent use. The replacement was fresh.”

  Simeon turned to her. “Welp. I guess you’ve gone and saved Felgor’s life for the time being. But you’ve fucked yourself over, because despite the fact Lionel turned up a day early, meaning your ride home is sitting in our harbor, I’ve got a burning urge to see what else my new tinkerer can spin up from all this shit. A queen’s ransom doesn’t shine nearly as bright as tools for easy killing.”

  “I would imagine that, to you, nothing does.”

  He grinned. “What’s the matter, Queen? You find me distasteful?”

  “I find you unimpressive and uninteresting. You’re just a killer. And the world is full of them already. Men who are incapable of anything besides wanton destruction. Peel away the armor and muscles and the viciousness, and there’s nothing left. You’re empty.”

  “Won’t argue with you.” Simeon flexed his new glove a few more times. “Funny thing, though. I didn’t start my life mired in the blackness and the murder. Back in the Razorbacks, I was a carpenter.”

  Ashlyn tried to hide her surprise. Failed.

  “Aye. Learned it from my father. Who learned it from his. My pop was known for his rocking chairs—legendary comfort on those bastards. But I tended to focus on houses. Barns. I liked making big things. Something that would last through the harsh winters and heavy spring rains of the mountains. But when the Ghalamarians came past the Line of Lornar hunting Skojit, all they saw was a savage village to burn down.” He looked down at his hands. “I learned to build things from my father. But it was you flatlanders who taught me to break ’em.”

  “So it’s not your fault that you became a vicious murderer?”

  “Naw. Not saying that, exactly. Just saying that once that kind o’ thing’s been carved into your soul, there’s no way to uncarve it. No way to start fresh.”

  Ashlyn didn’t say anything. But she did think of the things she’d brought into this world, and could never take out.

  “Guess some spoiled queen who’s spent her whole life on a cushion would say that killing’s against the natural order of things, but—”

  “It’s not,” Ashlyn said.

  Simeon raised an eyebrow. His turn to be surprised.

  “The natural order depends upon killing. From pea-sized spiders to castle-sized dragons, everything in this world either kills to survive, or dies to keep something else alive. The peacefulness of nature is an illusion. A trick played on untrained eyes.”

  Simeon smiled. “I like you, Queen. You’re full of surprises.”

  “If you like me, let me out of this cage.”

  “Eh. Don’t like you that much.”

  “There’s another room below this one,” Ashlyn pressed. “I want to see it.”


  “And what do I get from satisfying this curiosity of yours?”

  “More tools for easy killing.” Ashlyn licked her lips. “You’ve become a legend of the sea with an incomplete set of armor and a few crossbows. If I’m right about what’s down there, I could make a full suit of armor for everyone in your crew.”

  Howell glanced at his boss, clearly interested in that idea. But Simeon was already shaking his head. Smiling.

  “The Skojit got a saying. ‘The more natural the boulder looks, the more likely it’s a Stone Scale waiting to tear your guts out.’” He spat. “Might be I’m a savage and a murderer, but I ain’t stupid. And for a queen, you ain’t so good at the whole lying and deceit portion of this business. Naw. We’re gonna do this in real short chapters that I write. No big promises, no little tricks from clever queens.”

  He yanked the unfinished helmet off the pedestal and threw it into the cage, followed by a few more of the lodestones.

  “Finish that. Same deal as before, except I’ll give you a week. Felgor dies if that’s not working when I get back. Clear?”

  “As a mountain lake,” Ashlyn said.

  * * *

  Once they were alone again, Felgor went back to picking the lock with his chicken bones.

  “Well, that didn’t go so good,” he muttered.

  Ashlyn stood up and went over to the helmet. The dragon scales and metal had all been tied together, but none of the lodestones were installed. That was why it didn’t react to the rest of the armor. She saw three sockets, and recognized the orientation markings from Osyrus Ward’s schematics. She could get this working. Even better, Simeon had thrown four lodestones into her cage. That meant she had one extra.

  “There’s more than one way out of this cage, Felgor.”

  Ashlyn dug through the stack of schematics until she found the designs that detailed how to link a lodestone to a thread that was fused to dragon bone. Her thread was fused to human bone, but the principle was the same. It was just really going to hurt.