The girl looked to the dead musk oxen. “We shouldn’t have slaughtered those foul beasts so swiftly. They’re slow mounts, but better than walking.”
“Cromm wanted the meat,” the oghul said. “It’s good they died.” Then he canted his thick neck to the side, eyes again on Nail. “My name is Cromm Cru’x. But you can call me Cromm. And you shall eat musk ox with me tonight.”
“Thank you.” Nail dipped his head toward the black-eyed giant. “Cromm Cru’x.”
A surprised look came over the oghul’s husky face. He reached up and dug into his lower lip with one big finger, pulling a small black stone from his mouth. “You spoke it right,” he said, pointing with the rock pinched between index finger and thumb, looking at the copper-haired girl almost proudly. “The marked one knows Cromm’s name and can speak it.” The rows of teeth within the beast’s smiling mouth were sharp and jagged as splintered bone. Nail noticed the tiny gemstones that were embedded in those teeth and shuddered, finally coming to realize it was an actual oghul he was talking to.
“Cromm likes it when folks pronounce his name correct,” the girl said.
Cromm jammed the black rock behind his lip again and struck a somewhat relaxed pose, hooking thick thumbs through his belt. The oghul also had jewel-encrusted claws jutting from more than a few of his curled knuckles, gleaming and sparkling with color. Everything about him is disconcertingly odd. . . .
The oghul just stared at him, expectant.
“Nail is my name,” Nail said. The oghul’s smile widened further.
“Since everyone insists upon making introductions, my name is Bronwyn Allen.” The girl swept copper locks up into the cowl of her hood and pulled the hood over her head, black-stained eyes mostly hidden in shadow. She turned to Val-Draekin. “Consider yourselves lucky Cromm has the silver-wolf’s eye. And consider yourself lucky that he hates this particular group of Hragna’Ar oghuls more than he hates the Vallè. He recognized those scars on your friend even from afar. The marks on Nail’s hand and arm are why he insisted on saving you two. He claims there is an oghul legend, a Hragna’Ar prophecy from generation to generation that makes mention of one such human with similar marks on his flesh.”
“Prophecy?” Nail’s gaze shot to Val-Draekin.
“Yes, prophecy,” the girl continued. “Prophecy that the oghul who befriends such a marked man and escorts him to Fiery Absolution shall become legend. I think it’s nonsense. But whatever. Cromm is my friend, and one indulges their friends.”
“Cromm will become legend.” The oghul was smiling still, large gleaming eyes on Bronwyn. “Told you we would find more than just revenge and treasure at Deadwood Gate.”
* * *
A slain enemy is a peaceful enemy, and the world oft cries for peace.
—THE BOOK OF THE BETRAYER
* * *
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CRYSTALWOOD
1ST DAY OF THE FIRE MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
WESTERN SEA SOUTH OF KAYDE, SØR SEVIER
Krista Aulbrek woke to the sound of shrieking gulls. The birds circled above, stark white against the clear azure sky. She lay on her back in the bottom of a smelly wooden boat beside two long oars and a mud-coated iron anchor, hands and feet bound with rope, filth clinging to her prison garb. The stench of fish and stale salt water was pungent. And the dirty confines of the boat were less than luxurious. Greased wool and black tar caulking filled every crack and joist between every wood plank beneath her.
She sensed the forms of Borden Bronachell and the dwarf Squateye behind her. Or is his name Ironcloud? He no longer wore an eye patch. When she raised her weary head, she had to squint against the brightness of the sun-hammered sea. A warm breeze washed smoothly across the open expanse of water.
Before her, a vast seascape of tranquil blue stretched off to the west, a thin dark line of land cresting the horizon to the east. Were she not so ill, the scene would have likely stolen her breath. Instead it merely frightened her. Up until these last few days of half wakefulness, she never knew the ocean could be such a desolate place, so staggeringly immeasurable and infinite. Perhaps it was the poisons still in her bloodstream that caused her such anxiety. Sure, she’d seen the sea from afar before, stood on the stony shores of Rokenwalder and gazed out upon the endless waters. But she’d never been floating in a small sailboat smack in the middle of the ocean, swallowed up by it on all sides. She felt nauseous.
A dog barked.
Her eyes flew to the tiny white boat trailing hers some thirty paces distant, a length of chain connecting the two vessels. Café Colza Bouledogue, stumpy front legs braced on the prow, stared back at her with deranged beady eyes. He barked again, rusted-spiked collar tight around his neck a dull glint in the sun.
Hans Rake, sitting just behind the dog, stared across the distance at Krista, his fiery green eyes graced with conceit, annoyance, calculation, and rage all at once. With but a glance, even at a distance, Krista could discern Hans’ every peevish, complicated look and mood. The blond strip of hair atop his head was awash with sunlight, bright in contrast to the garish blue Suk Skard clan tattoos covering either side of his skull. He still wore the black leather greaves and armor that marked him as one of Black Dugal’s caste.
“Like being cast adrift with a saber-toothed lion,” Borden said from behind her. The former prisoner sat on the center bench of the skiff, directly under the billowing white sail. Borden was fuller of face now, in clothes and boots that fit, not the tattered pants and shirt and bare feet of the Rokenwalder dungeon. He still had thin legs and arms, but his overall skeletal look was gone. His beard was trimmed, no longer a natty mess. “Had to stop in Suk Skard the first day, get another boat just to haul him and that dog. Raging lunatics both.”
“And just when we think he’s run out of little black daggers,” Squateye followed, “another comes spinning toward us. Sometimes I think we ought to just drown the both of them.” The dwarf handed her a hunk of stale bread. Hands bound in front of her, Krista took it and lifted it to her mouth.
“We kept your Bloodwood friend tied down in this boat for a time,” Borden said. “But even tied up he is liable to be causing all manner of havoc. It’s why he’s in a separate boat now. The dog too is a handful. And those ropes would not have held him long.”
To her best estimation, they had been afloat a week, with her unconscious at the bottom of the sailboat for most of the journey, bound and tied with all the worth and dignity of a sack of potatoes. She swallowed the bread and looked to the dwarf for more.
“It’s not easy keeping someone as sick as you alive for near ten days,” the dwarf said, handing her more bread. “Liquefy the food; force it past your lips. It’s about all we could do. You need to regain your strength now that the worst is over.” Ten days! Her mind reeled. “And the bobbing of the boat,” the dwarf continued. “The seas have not always been as kind as they are now. But you did not vomit once. A miracle, that.”
The sea was calm now, but she recalled the motion of the sailboat during the storms, could feel it in her bones, the seasickness and torment. But the dwarf was right; she had not vomited. She would choke back whatever illness assailed her even if it killed her. She remembered the very last time she had puked. Seven years old. At the dinner table of King Aevrett Raijael, fine porcelain dishes, silver goblets, and Rokenwalder royalty all around, she spewed her dinner of roast chicken and honey-butter scones. Aevrett’s son, the young prince, Aeros, had scooted from the table horrified. Aevrett’s horrid wife, Natalia, had ordered Krista and her father from the dining hall.
“Sorry I spilled.” She recalled her embarrassed apology as Gault escorted her from Jö Reviens. Then later, on hands and knees, her father holding up her hair, she’d spewed again into a Rokenwalder gutter. “I keep spilling, Papa,” she said over and over. But Gault had patiently cleaned the puke from the front of her dress, offering what comfort he could. She knew she had ruined his evening; it wasn’t often he was invited to dine wi
th Prince Aeros and the king.
Of course Gault had gone off to war with Aeros soon after, leaving her with those two monsters, Aevrett and Natalia.
She could still feel her dagger sinking into Aevrett’s chest. But Natalia was still alive. She swallowed the last hunk of bread, shifted her position in the boat, the ropes about her ankles biting into the skin, her hair, light upon her head, rippling at the wind’s soft caress. Like a father’s touch . . .
She looked out toward Café Colza and Hans, noticed that the chain that connected the two boats was slack, dipping low into the water.
“We best be wary again, Borden.” The dwarf rose, his eyes darting across the water toward the other boat too.
Hans stood, foot propped upon the sidewall of his small vessel. His voice carried a throaty, indignant lilt as it cut across the water. “Now that Crystalwood is again awake, I will see her slain. I will see that she is naught but a pretty little corpse before you turn her from Black Dugal’s caste.” He produced a black dagger from his leather armor.
“And here I thought we searched him,” the dwarf said sardonically. “Best we duck down behind the bulwark lest he throw it, as he’s thrown the last ten or so. Blessed Mother Mia, do the daggers hidden in his leathers have no end?”
“I will not throw this one at you, dwarf.” Hans held the Bloodwood blade up, dull and black. “ ’Tis my last, and I will not waste it on you.” He stepped up onto the sidewall of the small skiff, the bulldog barking as the boat wobbled. “I aim to slay you by my own hand.” He eyed the shrinking expanse of water between the two boats.
“I wouldn’t risk it were I you,” Borden called out. “The seas south of Kayde are known to be thick with sharks and other such devilry. You won’t make it far.”
Krista knew Hans, knew her fellow assassin would pay the man’s warning scant heed. Sure enough, Hans bent at the knees and dove headfirst into the sea, slim leather-clad body knifing beneath the crust of the blue water with hardly a splash.
Borden and the dwarf each grabbed an oar, readying themselves for the fight.
When Hans’ head broke above the sea, Café Colza barked again. With a furious wag of the tail, the dog jumped into the water too, ungainly body landing with a clap.
Hans pulled himself along the length of the chain with grim determination, tattooed head streaked with water, Café Colza furiously paddling along behind.
“Rotted angels.” Borden slapped the skin of the sea with the flat of the long oar. The dwarf followed suit. Over and over they smacked their oars into the water, creating a frothy ruckus.
Krista thought she was seeing things as there was suddenly a woman’s head gliding in the water next to Hans. The abrupt sight of her beautiful pale face and long red hair startled even Borden and Ironcloud, their oars now suspended over the ocean.
Hans stopped pulling himself along the chain, head barely above water, cold eyes staring at the woman before him.
She had a fragile-looking chin, delicate lips, and a thin nose. Her wide round eyes were like two crystal green shards of light. She smiled, revealing a row of thin pointed teeth. The bulldog reversed its course, heading straight back toward the boat it had just abandoned, water churning in its wake.
Is this creature just some cruel vision? Krista’s mind was awhirl, wondering if the wraiths ate at her soul or if the Bloodwood poisons still worked their dread magic somewhere. Café Colza was soon scratching at the side of the small skiff, trying in vain to claw his way back aboard, rusted-spiked collar clattering against the wood.
Hans gripped the chain tight in one hand, the other hand brandishing his black dagger before the strange woman’s face. Inches from the dagger’s tip, the woman’s ghostly visage floated above the deep, a serrated row of slender gills fluttering along her pale neck. Mermaid! The creature was like something thrust up from the underworld. Krista’s father, Gault, had called them mers, sometimes nixies.
“Get away from me!” Hans stabbed at the mermaid, missing as she ducked under the water. Hans’ fright-filled eyes scanned the now-empty sea before him. She reappeared behind him, mouth agape, screeching, harsh and vivid. Hans whirled in the water. As the shriek faded, the woman’s thin lips peeled back into a wide grin. Two rows of pointed white fangs gleamed as she brandished her own weapon in her webbed, clawlike hand. It was a needle-thin weapon made of bone.
Hans lashed out with his own dagger. The mermaid drifted back, casually avoiding his lumbering blow. Her wide green eyes blinked slowly, gills on her neck rippling with each slow breath. Hans struck again, slow in the water. Then he simply disappeared—as if something beneath had reached up and forcefully yanked him below.
The red-haired mermaid still floated there, her round eyes climbing up the side of the sailboat, locating Krista’s startled gaze.
There was a shared silence between them. In fact, all was silent. Borden. The dwarf. The entirety of the ocean. Even Café Colza had stopped his mad scratching at the distant boat. Then the mermaid dove forward, pale back and bony spine curling up and slithering under the water, glistening tail arching above the skin of the sea like polished glass, shimmering scales like glistening little gems. Her silvery splayed tail slipped beneath the blue, and she was gone.
“We can’t lose the boy.” Borden breathed deep. “Or the dog.”
“He’s already gone.” The dwarf met his worried gaze. “And there’s no telling how many more of these demons are under us.”
A plume of dark red water bubbled up around the chain near where Hans had clung. Horror washed over Krista. A purple swirl of entrails and red viscera coiled up out of the deep next, spreading around the chain in an ever-growing pool, like so many eels trying claim some grim ocean territory.
“Foolish fool.” Borden scowled. “He shouldn’t have gone into the water.”
He can’t be gone! Krista could scarcely breathe.
Then Hans’ head broke through the circle of guts, mouth spewing water as his lungs heaved for air. He floundered. Coughed. Then he shouted, “Gutted the bitch!” and began pulling himself along the length of the chain toward Krista’s boat.
Two more merfolk spun up from the water, males this time, screeching and shrill, the fullness of their bodies exposed, all sinewy muscle and glimmering scale. Bonelike weapons in hand, they dipped back below with a splash. When they resurfaced, they slashed at the chain right in front of Hans. The Bloodwood reversed course and headed for his own skiff, pushing the bulldog aside, scrambling back aboard swiftly. Once he was safe, he leaned over the sidewall and grasped Café Colza by the iron-spiked collar and hauled the dog to safety too.
The mermen reappeared, tried pulling themselves aboard Hans’ boat, screaming, gruesome fangs gnashing. Hans’ black dagger flashed out, raking the webbed hands of the nearest one. Café Colza tore at the other with slavering jaws. The two mermen dropped back down into the sea, leaving broad trails of blood along the side of the skiff. The two merfolk slithered about just under the surface of the sea now, naught but rippling silhouettes circling Hans’ boat.
And then they were gone, vanishing into the deep as if they had never existed.
The sea was once again calm.
“You bloody fool!” Borden called out toward Hans. “I warned you of these waters.”
Hans met Borden’s gaze with an impaling glint. With that look, Krista knew, Hans would not rest until his captors were dead. Not even the fiendish horrors of the vast Western Sea would stop him.
Krista sucked in a deep breath as a singular white fin broke the surface of the blue ocean some hundred paces behind Hans’ boat.
“A great white,” the dwarf muttered. “It could swamp us if it has a mind to.”
The huge fin plied the sea in a lazy path, wending its way between the two skiffs, a great swell of water piling up before it. Suddenly the fin took aim and darted toward Krista’s sailboat in a straight line. “Brace yourself!” Borden cried out, dropping his oar, grasping the sidewall. The dwarf did the same.
Krista’s heart lurched as the ominous shark bore down, nearly as big as the sailboat she was on. The thud of the beast striking the side of the skiff was loud and jarring, and the boat lurched violently to the side. All three aboard were jerked from their feet, tumbling into the bottom of the boat.
As the sailboat righted itself, Krista scrambled to her knees and saw the shark’s fin surface on the other side, heading for some spot between the two skiffs again.
“If it gets hold of that chain, it’ll be the end of us.” The dwarf grabbed his oar and readied himself against the sidewall of the skiff, as if he meant to fight the beast with it. “He’ll pull us both down.”
The shark moved slowly and silently toward the chain connecting the boats, grim eyes now peering above the water, ominous and full of death. The monster tipped on its side, massive mouth agape as it swallowed the entire spool of mermaid guts in one great gulp, then slid below the blue skin of the ocean and was gone.
It took a moment before anyone dared breathe.
On the opposite boat, Hans Rake started laughing. Whether he laughed out of sheer joy of seeing Borden and the dwarf nearly drowned, or out of pure relief at having survived his dip in the sea, Krista couldn’t guess.
Borden eyed the dwarf. “I am gathering more strength with each day out of that cell, but when we reach Wynix, that boy will be hell to contain. If he can take on a mermaid whilst treading in the sea, no telling what he’s capable of.”
“Indeed,” the dwarf agreed. “His training with Black Dugal is complete. I say the sooner we kill him the better.”
“We still need him,” Borden said.
“Dugal’s black kestrels will always be able to find Hans Rake.”
“And will Dugal find him too? We are not done with Black Dugal yet, Ironcloud. The Brethren of Mia still has use of him.”
“Dugal might not follow Hans or the girl, but he will follow that dog. He will follow us all the way to Amadon, for if The Moon Scrolls of Mia are right, his bloodline is essential for Fiery Absolution.”
The Blackest Heart Page 77