Rook attempted to pet Scar, but the pup grumbled, his eyes glowing red. Kala’s eyes flashed red, and Rook jerked his hand back. “What else does Scar need?”
She frowned, her eyes still glowing a dark shade of red as she continued petting Scar. Finally, she smiled. “Scar wants Angst to come home.”
“Oh,” Rook said, forcing his voice to be calm. “I’m sure that will be soon.”
“And Scar wants him to...to...” She screwed up her face in concentration. “Get it back?”
26
Nordruaut
“This is nonsense,” Rasaol said in a harsh whisper. “We should have just killed him.”
They stood in the great hall staring at their captive. Guldrich was asleep on the floor, chained to a wall and balled up like an animal. He snored every few breaths, his ears twitching nervously.
“We aren’t at war,” Jarle replied firmly. He wiped the stress from his face like drawing off rain water. “The law dictates that disputes are resolved by a challenge. And so it will be done.”
“You don’t need to tell me this,” Rasaol snapped. “But we should be at war. We will be soon.”
Jarle studied his peer and noticed a wildness in his eyes, as if the pupils were too small and falling away. Rasaol regained his composure quickly, but the shock of that irrational glare made it hard not to see the old king as mad. Rasaol put on a smile and took a breath not quite deep enough to cleanse madness.
“You act as though we are under constant attack,” Jarle accused. “Has this happened before?”
“Not like this.” Rasaol tugged at his beard. “We’ve found the creatures’ bodies several times, frozen, or barely alive. Last week, there were five huddled behind the hall, caught dead in the ice.”
“I’ve not heard of such a thing,” Jarle said in disbelief. “Were they attacking? Were they spying?”
“From what I could see, they were only dying.” Rasaol sniffed. “They weren’t even wearing furs or leathers to stay warm.”
“What?” Jarle crossed his muscular arms. “How did they even get here? We are days away from the Fulk’han border.”
Rasaol shook his head.
Jarle stared at the man for any sign of knowledge, but Rasaol only peered at the fire.
“Whatever the magics that changed the Fulk’han also brings them here,” Rasaol said with conviction. “That is why we need to prepare for war, before that nation of zealots invade.”
“And you chose Niihlu to champion us?” Jarle asked.
“He wanted it,” Rasaol admitted. “More than anyone.”
“Exactly why he was the wrong choice!” Jarle turned on Rasaol angrily, making the king step back. “I saw the hunger in his eyes throughout our travels. He tried to take one of those weapons from travelers during our hunt. He lost to the challenge.”
“The hunger?” Rasaol asked.
“Greed, my king,” Jarle said with bitter disappointment. “His desire for property, for something that wasn’t his...it was offensive.”
“Aren’t you taking the old way of doing things a bit far?” Rasaol scoffed, waving his hand. “There is nothing wrong with wanting something. There is nothing wrong with fighting for what you want!”
“You have forgotten,” Jarle said in surprise. “We live with nature, with the land and animals around us. We don’t go to war with other peoples of Ehrde. Do you forget what happened when all Nordruaut was hungry with greed? What it cost?”
“Of course I remember,” Rasaol said, nodding with his head while his eyes told a different story. “The young see things differently.”
“Which is why we need to teach them,” Jarle said with measured patience. “They need to see we still believe this.”
“When we are at war, Jarle?” Rasaol asked. “Now is not the time for lessons about how small we are in the life of Ehrde. It’s time to protect our own. They mean to kill us, and we have no choice but to attack them first.”
“But we are small,” Jarle replied. “We are a mere piece of Ehrde. The stories teach us that we are symbiotic with everything—”
“Your Majesty.” A young Nordruaut male jogged into the room, interrupting Rasaol’s yawn. He eyed Jarle warily, hesitant to speak in front of the other man.
“What?” Rasaol said, looking cautiously at Jarle from the corner of his eyes. “Another attack?”
“Another woman,” the young man said in a deep voice. “Niihlu.”
“That fool,” Rasaol said, sighing deeply and closing his eyes.
“What is it?” Jarle asked.
“When he tries to have sex with women, they die,” Rasaol said in a heavy voice. His wild eyes were now exhausted and old.
“What?” Jarle snapped. “Then why would he even try? That’s murder!”
“Bring us to him,” Rasaol commanded. “Now!”
Guldrich opened an eye and watched them leave the room. The tension between the two men had been delicious, and he would have loved to needle them into battle. Nordruaut, the eastern half, seemed to be looking over the edge and peering at war from a distance. How hard would it be to nudge them closer? His mind raced. There was so little time. He was no match for the Nordruaut with the axe. The challenge tomorrow wouldn’t be about killing their champion, it would be about pushing them closer to that ledge.
She lay there, a rigid husk where only an hour earlier she had been warm and breathing. Her torso was like an icy lake whose thin center had collapsed into dark waters. Frozen shoulders and arms reached out but the forearms had been torn from her body. Her face was like a beautiful statue, and she stared eerily at the ceiling with a finely chiseled gasp of surprise. Jarle knelt beside her body and held his hand over her eyes before realizing they would not shut. He stood quickly and reared about with an angry finger pointed at Niihlu.
Frosty air hovered about Niihlu’s bitter glare as he stared at the woman’s body, completely ignoring Jarle’s threatening posture.
“What were you thinking?” Rasaol asked before Jarle could speak.
“I thought I could control it,” Niihlu said, every word crackling like splintered ice.
“You forced her to do this?” Jarle asked. Furious, he shoved the man’s shoulder, jerking back his hand at the sting of cold.
“Never,” Niihlu spat. “She came to me...”
“This is four, Niihlu,” Rasaol said. “Four Nordruaut dead because you thought you had control. Why?”
“I’m so cold,” Niihlu said.
Jarle had seen that same despair in the younger man’s eyes when Feemi had been killed. He could only imagine every death hollowing the younger man out, coring Niihlu until he was an empty shell.
“Yet you still did this?” Jarle asked, pointing at the dead woman. “You knew this could happen!”
“I thought I could control it,” Niihlu said again, looking at Rasaol.
“You heard him,” Rasaol said in an unconvincing voice. “It was an accident.”
“Was Feemi the fourth accident, or the fifth?” Jarle snapped.
With an angry roar, Niihlu struck out. The palm of his hand landed on Jarle’s chest with such force that Jarle flew back against the wall. An icy cloud filled the air in his wake.
“Niihlu!” Rasaol shouted, staring down the young man.
Niihlu stormed out of the room as Rasaol approached Jarle. He knelt, waving away the frost hanging in the air. Jarle coughed and accepted Rasaol’s hand as he stood.
“How is it you live?” Rasaol asked in surprise. “I never thought our western brothers to be so sturdy.”
“I don’t know.” Jarle looked at his chest, brushing away frozen bits of leather to show he was otherwise unharmed. “I’ve been struck much harder.”
“Maybe he was holding back,” Rasaol said.
“You heard him! He doesn’t have that kind of control,” Jarle said sharply. “That’s no champion, my king. Whatever you have created is broken.”
27
“What did you do to Falcon?” Jarbl
ech demanded from the deck. “What did you do to my ship?”
Her voice was the dying scream of a dragon, and loud enough to drag Angst out of his hammock and upstairs without further prodding. She stormed along the railing, slamming the wood planks with every step as though stomping on beetles—making sailors rush from underfoot to avoid being trampled. Jarblech’s curses seared the sleep from Angst’s eyes and was more effective at waking him than a freezing cold bath. Awake but groggy, he was barely fast enough to jump back from her accusing finger as she spun to face him.
“I almost killed my pilot for not following commands,” she spit out and wiped her mouth. “What in the felk do I do with you?”
“I’m kinda sleepy,” Angst said, stifling a yawn. “A hug would be nice.”
“No jokes on deck.” She grimaced, fighting back the barest of smirks.
“Wouldn’t even consider it, cap’n.” He gave into the yawn, arching his back and wincing. After three nights, he was convinced the hammock was purposefully twisting his spine until the top half would permanently face the wrong direction.
“Landies.” She rolled her eyes then shouted at her pirates. “Find that wind or you’ll be swimming back to port!”
She grabbed his tunic with both hands and pulled him toward her foot, which he tripped over to land roughly on his chest. “Hey!” he said, but before he could complain more, she rammed her hands between his shoulders. The weight of the blow forced all the air from his lungs. He winced as his back popped at every joint from below his shoulder to the base of his skull. He blinked slowly, dizzy from the sudden rush of air to his lungs and blood to his brain. Angst rolled over and sat upright, wide-eyed and feeling brought back to life.
Angst rotated his shoulder, which cracked noisily. He breathed deeply and smiled. “That...that was fantastic!” he said. “Thank you!”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said dismissively, helping him to his feet. “Now, before I kill you, what’s wrong with her?”
He looked around. Sails were heaved-ho and held wind, the boat didn’t list, and they moved forward, albeit slowly. He didn’t see the problem. Jarblech snapped her finger and pumped her right fist into the air as if cheering at a jousting match. The pilot, Tamara, spun the wheel as far starboard as it would go. The ship continued moving forward when it should’ve turned. Hesitantly, it followed Tamara’s change in course, but so slowly it was like the ship had a bad hangover. Jarblech looked at Angst, her eyes desperate for help. She cocked her head to one side without stating the obvious.
“Oh,” he said. “That,” Angst said, raising his eyebrows. He held out his hands. A gentle blue glow surrounded them, making nearby pirates stare nervously at each other and inch away. He searched the ship for holes or dents, or possibly an anchor or something dragging them down. All appeared to be well—the steel was just as solid as when he’d formed it.
“She, um, your ship isn’t damaged,” he said, leaning from side to side. His back felt amazing. “I guess I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“Quit that,” she snapped, and he stopped leaning. “She’s sluggish, moving like an old lady. An old lady who weighs about two tons.”
“Well, I’m sure the steel armor has added some weight,” Angst suggested. “Dallow could explain better, but that would be my guess.”
“Some weight?” she said sharply. “She’s carried plenty of cargo without dragging us down like this! We’re barely moving! It’d be faster to walk.”
“I could always drop the steel,” Angst suggested.
“Do that and I’m turning us about,” she grumbled.
“Not very quickly,” he teased, and then became overly serious under her glare, mocking her dark gaze.
“Can’t you give her a push?” she asked. “Throw some wind at my sails?”
“Uh, well,” he said hesitantly, “I don’t do wind.”
“You lifted her up and dressed her in steel,” she reminded him. “And you can’t give her a push?”
“I suppose I can,” Angst said with a frown. “But I don’t think I could do it all day.”
She peered at him as though preparing to undo her fix to his back.
“Fine. I’ll try.” Angst lifted his glowing hands. He was unsure where to grab it...her. So, the way he would try to move any heavy object, he got behind the ship with an air shield and pushed.
The ship abruptly rocked to one side, making most on deck fall to their knees.
“Sorry,” Angst said. He tilted his head the other direction and the ship followed, too much.
Jarblech’s smacked him across his face, and he immediately stopped. The ship returned to an upright position, but the pirates waited cautiously, remaining on their hands and knees.
“Are you trying to sink her?” she roared.
“Hit me again and I might,” Angst said, wiggling his jaw.
“You’ve got to be gentle,” she stressed.
“You first,” Angst grumbled.
“What’s going on?” Tarness came on deck.
“Is someone trying to sink the ship?” Hector said from behind him.
Victoria tripped up the stairs, ran to the nearest railing, and yacked loudly over the side. She stopped long enough to shoot Angst a look of pure death before vomiting in the ocean once more. Angst bared his teeth in an open-mouthed grimace. This was going to take a lot of apologies, and he wondered if it wasn’t a good time to go home.
“Jarblech says the ship is sluggish and wanted me to give it a push.” The captain’s eyes became dangerous. “That’s worse than Heather’s wife-look. Oh, fine. I’m supposed to give her a push.”
Jarblech nodded once with appreciation. “Now try again!”
With a sigh, Angst pushed, slowly at first, and then with greater force. The boat jerked, listed, and began turning. Like a chorus, the pirates cursed him. One screamed as she fell from the lookout, swinging from the ropes. Victoria was tossed over—all he could see was her hands holding onto the railing.
“Angst!” Tori screamed.
“No, no, no!” Jarblech yelled. Her fists were balled up and ready to strike.
“I can fix this,” Angst said, but the boat continued spinning around in a circle like a top.
This wasn’t going to end well, so he let go of the ship when it was almost going in the right direction. Tarness pulled Victoria back on deck. Vomit coated her hair and shoulder. She did not look pleased as she knelt by the railing and shakily wiped it off.
“Try holding onto her sides,” Tarness advised.
“What about pushing the sails?” Hector asked.
“He’ll bust the masts,” she snarled. “You don’t belong on a ship, wielder.”
“Angst, I think I’m going to be sick again,” Victoria cried.
Now they were all yelling a confusing mixture of suggestions and scoldings. Angst’s hands stopped glowing, and he lowered them. He shoved through his consultants and walked to the barracks entrance.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jarblech called after him.
“Back to bed,” Angst replied.
“You need to figure this out,” the captain called after him. “I don’t want to be stuck out here, it’s dangerous!”
Angst waved her off as he walked down the stairs into the hold.
“A bit moody, that one,” she said.
“You don’t even know.” Hector shook his head.
Angst returned to the deck after several hours of almost-sleep in the hammock. It was sunny and cool but not cold. They were slowly heading south, and it was becoming mild. Dark clouds formed in the far distance, menacing and beautiful. He took a draw of musty water from a metal cup. It was disgusting, and he could barely gulp it down. He’d been told not to waste water so drank the rest quickly to minimize the damage to his taste buds.
In spite of his concerns, he wasn’t greeted by an angry crew or a knife to the gut. Everything seemed back to normal, save a few worried looks and bitter glances. The pirates mostly avoided him, wh
ich was ideal. Victoria, on the other hand, seemed to be in a state of almost-dead by the railing, and he wondered if she’d been there throughout his early morning nap. He was cautiously approaching when he felt a tap on the back of his armor.
“No armor, Mr. Angst,” Jarblech said behind him.
“I thought we were in constant danger,” Angst argued.
“We are,” Jarblech said dismissively. “Which is why you need to be armor-less.”
“You know,” he put on his most charming smile, “most beautiful women take me out to dinner before asking me to get undressed.”
“You’ll be dinner at the bottom of the ocean if you don’t take it off,” she said dryly.
“I hate not having my armor on,” Angst grumbled. “It’ll be hard to get to when it’s hidden away in some barrel.”
“Well, I hate your giant sword glowing red and hovering over the bow like a beacon for every ship-eating monster,” Jarblech retorted. “It’s like a sign pointing right at an all-you-can-eat-buffet.”
“Dulgirgraut has been like that since we left,” Angst explained. “I’m not one to argue.”
“So you say,” Jarblech said. “I’ll live with it, and you live with the armor in the floating barrels. You get knocked overboard with that armor on, and you’ll drown.”
Angst glanced over the edge of the ship to be splashed in the face by sea water. He wondered what, or who, could’ve done that. “I’m pretty sure I’d survive, somehow,” he said with a smirk, wiping drops off his face and shaking his hand dry. “But if removing my armor makes you happy, I can manage, for now.”
“Done,” Jarblech said, spitting into her open hand and holding it out.
He reluctantly shook in agreement, wincing as he pulled away from the sticky mess. Jarblech smiled as if she’d won something. Angst nodded, grimacing as he gripped the railing with a spit-covered palm, skidding it along the wood to clean off as much as he could. Jarblech slapped him roughly on the shoulder as she made her way up to the steering wheel. Angst watched in amazement. No matter how much the ship rocked, Jarblech walked across the deck as though she were on solid ground.
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