Sins of a Sovereignty (Amernia Fallen Book 1)

by Plague Jack

  “That was only half the gold,” said Calcifer. “Evrill was more than generous.”

  “And the other half? Where did it go?”

  “Livius was the last hellion. I’ve imprisoned all twelve and finally paid my debt to Cambrian. I bought a manor at the Talon. It’s beautiful, and there’s a view from the south window that looks right out to the ocean.”

  Monica’s arms tightened around him. “That’s so wonderful, Calcifer,” she said, kissing his neck furiously. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Come with me,” said Calcifer. “Get away from this life. We can be together finally.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t?” growled Calcifer. “Is this how you want to live your life? As a common whore?”

  Monica sat up. “Of course not, Calcifer, but I can’t go with you. Not yet.”

  “And why not?” said Calcifer, his voice rising. “Are there still dicks in Norfield you haven’t ridden?”

  Monica’s eyes narrowed and she covered her breasts with her bedsheets. “You think I like this life? Funny you didn’t complain about me whoring when it was feeding you.”

  “I didn’t know any better,” said Calcifer, getting up and pulling on his pants. “And I didn’t love you then.”

  “What difference does it make?” shouted Monica. “So I fuck for money. Sex isn’t why I love you, Calcifer—I love you because you’re the only man who’s ever seen me as more than tits and ass. You’re the only one who’s ever treated me as an equal.”

  The Bottler shook his head as he buckled his belt. “That may have been a mistake. I’m giving you a way out. I see no other reason for you to stay here.”

  “Other reason than what?”

  “Than being a slut.”

  She slapped him hard across the face, leaving his cheek numb and stinging. There were tears in her eyes as she spoke. “You’re a selfish shit, you know that?” said Monica as Calcifer gritted his teeth. “I’m this brothel’s mistress—do you know what sort of duties that entails?” she asked as Calcifer turned from her and continued to dress. “Of course you don’t. It’s my job to run this building, and it’s my job to take care of these girls. This world hates us.”

  “I don’t want to hear your elvish self-pity.”

  “I’m not talking about being an elf, you idiot. I’m talking about being a woman. Every girl in this shithole of a city who gets down on her luck ends up here. One of my new girls was raped yesterday. She’s twelve. Twelve, and the guards won’t do anything. My influence is the only reason the gangs haven’t taken Bleeding Hearts for themselves.”

  “Your girls can take care of themselves,” said Calcifer, buttoning his coat. “This is the only time I’m going to extend this offer, Monica. You either come with me or I’m done with you.”

  She was crying now. “I’m sorry Calcifer,” said Monica. “But not all of us get chosen by a god. You became a sorcerer; I became a whore.” There was a knock at the door. “Just a minute,” said Monica.

  “I guess that’s it, then,” said Calcifer, his voice cracking as the door opened and an ape of a man stumbled in.

  “I’m here, my love!” said the big, bearded man holding a bouquet of roses under one arm. His smile faded when he saw that Monica was crying. “What’s wrong, my dear?” he asked, grabbing her chin before his eyes found Calcifer. “Has this little weakling made you cry?”

  “Weakling?” asked Calcifer, his eyes burning a faint blue with anger.

  “You weren’t supposed to be here till noon,” said Monica sniffing. “You’ll have to come back then, Bertrand. I’m sorry, this is private.”

  “I will not leave if my lady’s been hurt,” said Bertrand, puffing out his chest. He stumbled towards Calcifer, close enough he could smell the ale and vodka on Bertrand’s breath.

  Calcifer pulled Bertrand down by his beard and fastened his hands around the big man’s neck. They glowed red with heat as Calcifer squeezed until smoke wafted from between his fingers.

  “What are you doing, Calcifer?” screamed Monica. “Let him go. He’s just a fool who didn’t know any better.”

  Bertrand’s tongue swelled and wriggled as his face turned red, then purple, then blue. His eyes burst from the heat and melted down his face, but still Calcifer squeezed. Bertrand’s beard burned off and with it the top layer of skin receded until all that was left was a mangled red skull.

  “Why?” asked Monica, crying. The Bottler had committed his first murder. Silently he scraped the coins off the bed and back into their sack. “Calcifer, speak to me,” Monica pleaded. He stood in the doorway, his back turned so she could not see the tears rolling down his face.

  “Keep the remaining coins as payment.”

  “I love you,” said his sister as Calcifer closed the door.

  “Still awake, are we?” asked Pendragon, snapping Calcifer back to the present. The old man stood leaning against the entrance to the cave, which was partially obscured by the roots of some long-dead tree.

  “Rest does not come easy to me these days,” said Calcifer, tucking his sister’s soul back into his coat.

  “Come keep me company, then?” asked Pendragon with a smile. “The night is cold and still. If neither of us is going to be sleeping, we might as well stay awake together.”

  “Very well,” said Calcifer, pushing himself off the dirt and exiting the burrow. The west side of the Frost Fist bordered the ocean, its calm waters broken by ice floes that floated along the water’s surface. In the distance the three peaks of Morheim loomed ominously across the water.

  “Terrifying, isn’t it?” asked Pendragon, gesturing to the foggy island. “One of Amernia’s shining jewels forever lost.”

  Calcifer shrugged. “Of course it is,” he said shivering. “Men and monsters frighten me. Technology? Not as much.”

  Pendragon pulled the hood over his head and blew his icy breath into his hands. “That’s because you’re too young to remember a time without the fog. How old are you, boy?”

  “Twenty,” said Calcifer.

  Pendragon laughed. “Give it time. In forty years I’m sure you’ll be just as terrified of whatever new horrors are scarring the land.”

  “I’m sure I will,” said Calcifer. “You were at Capricorn, weren’t you?”

  “I was,” said Pendragon. “And Morheim as well.”

  “So was I,” said Calcifer. “At Capricorn, that is. I was ten when the Queen’s hellions tore through the city, murdering and raping.”

  “Capricorn was a bloody mess,” said Pendragon. “Mistakes were made.”

  “Made twice,” said Calcifer, nodding at Morheim.

  “Morheim wasn’t a mistake,” said Pendragon. “The dwarfs were working on… on these things. There was a powder—the dwarfs called it Red Dust. The Dust was worse than Nixus. At least Nixus was a quick death, but the Dust…” Pendragon’s voice trailed off. “That big mountain there, the one in the middle, covered in snow? That’s Thorheim. The one to the right of it they call Gloinhammer, and the littlest to the left is Cogner. Most of Morheim was built under Thorheim, but there are plenty of tunnels that lead out of Gloinhammer and Cogner. After the mess that was Capricorn, the Queen wanted Morheim taken without any gas deployment. I volunteered to lead the charge through the back tunnels under Cogner. It was supposed to be a clear shot into the city, but they were waiting for us. The dwarfs had mined the Red Dust from the depths, and when touched by flame it erupted in a white light. It was so bright that when it touched a man, his eyes would pop out of his head and his skin would melt right off. We ended up putting several regiments out of their misery. The Dust made Morheim impenetrable. Edgar wouldn’t surrender, so Nixus it was. We had no other choice.”

  “I hear the dwarfs destroyed themselves with alchemy,” said Calcifer. “Mutation is a treacherous and terrible thing.”

  “They sent me back in—after Morheim went quiet, I wasn’t expecting to find an army of cannibalistic giants. They gave me th
e fight of my life,” said Pendragon. “We were lucky to make it out of Morheim alive. Giants still haunt those halls, and no amount of gold could ever make me go back.”

  “What’s to keep them from leaving Morheim and heading to the mainland?” asked Calcifer, an eyebrow raised. “They could give Amernia quite a bit of hell.”

  “Queen Roselock has the island constantly circled by warships,” said Pendragon. “That serves as a deterrent, but it doesn’t stop the monsters from trying to make it across the bay. Luckily for us Giants are, as a race, imbecilic.” Pendragon laughed. “This isn’t the world I grew up in. It seems like every year things progress and change faster and faster. I think it will be the death of me.”

  “Do you regret it all?” asked Calcifer. “You must if you’re turning towards the Wild Hunt.”

  “I regret Capricorn,” said Pendragon. “I regret the killing.”

  “Do you really?” asked Calcifer. “That makes you a rarity amongst knights.”

  “I wish I could disagree,” said the old knight. “I’ve enjoyed battle,” he continued. “There is something marvelous in killing a man, in fighting him one on one, clashing your steel against his until you go deaf from blood rushing in your veins and a well-timed blow sends the bastard into the abyss. Killing a man in the moment was always simple work to me. It’s what comes after, when the hatred in your blood subsides—that’s when murder hurts the worst. It’s when you’ve won the battle and your queen’s placing a crown of flowers around your head that you wonder if maybe that man you killed didn’t deserve it. What if he didn’t believe in his cause and was just drafted to fight a war in the name of greedy, selfish men. Maybe he had a child or some lass at home who’s never going to get to hold her man again. It’s the guilt that kills a slice of your soul. Kill a man and he takes a little of you with him.” Pendragon looked Calcifer in the eyes, unblinking. “Have you ever killed a man?”

  He’ll know if I lie, Calcifer thought, the old man’s gaze making him uncomfortable. “Once.”

  “Do you regret it?” asked Pendragon, his gaze unflinching.

  “Yes,” Calcifer responded.

  “Did he deserve it, at least?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Horrible feeling, isn’t it?” Pendragon asked. “Now imagine what it’s like to have thousands on your conscience. You talk of attacking Norfield. If you do, people will die. Are you ready for that?”

  I could kill for a lifetime and never get a body count as high as yours, thought Calcifer. “Of course I am. Norfield is a pit of human depravity. There is nowhere worse in Amernia.”

  “Obviously you’ve never been to Sinstolke,” said Pendragon before pointing to the short katana around Calcifer’s waist. “You carry a sword. Can you fight with it?”

  “No,” said Calcifer. “But Kusangi has its uses,” he added, unsheathing Kusangi. It was more a large dagger than a sword, and the metal shone silver in the moonlight. In Amernia it was common for crooked men to stand alongside roads and sell magic trinkets. Naturally their wares were almost universally frauds, but items of power did exist. Magical artifacts were relics of the gods themselves and each continent venerated the powerful items. “The blade was cursed by Prezmordia,” said Calcifer. “The god himself fashioned the blade so that the Glass Empire could defend itself against Giiradon. Of course back in those days the Glass Empire was the Sun Dynasty. That all changed after Giiradon’s fire turned the sand of Kynoto into a sea of glass.”

  “Giiradon? They say a splash of his tail could sink islands. The Glass Empire wouldn’t part with one of their artifacts lightly. Tell me, boy, how’d you steal it?”

  “It was a gift from my father,” said Calcifer. “Gods know how he got it.”

  Pendragon laughed. “Hatori Sun would not be pleased if he knew where his sword was.”

  “Luckily for me he doesn’t,” said Calcifer. “What about yours? Don’t warriors love to brag about their weapons?”

  “I’m hardly even a knight anymore. I’ve had enough fighting.” He sighed. “Very well,” said Pendragon, unclasping the sheath from his belt and resting it lightly in his upward-facing palms. He pulled back the worn leather with great care, gripping the dragon’s head on the pommel to reveal a long blade of volcanite steel. The black blade was rippled by streaks of white and gray that rolled like waves. “This was a gift my father ordered smithed for his favorite son. Father died at sea shortly after, and when dog rot took my brother, I took his blade. Its name is Christopher.”

  “Christopher?” laughed Calcifer. “Bland name for a sword.”

  “My wife died of fever during childbirth. Christopher was going to be our son’s name,” said Pendragon, his face blank.

  “Oh,” said Calcifer, taken aback. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

  “It’s fine,” Pendragon cut him off. “Those wounds have long since healed.”

  Or scarred, thought Calcifer.

  Pendragon pulled out a flask and drank until it was empty. “You recently lost your sister, did you not?”

  Calcifer’s eyes narrowed. “I did. Are you going to lecture me on the immorality of our love?”

  Pendragon shook his head. “No, I think not. Better men have committed worse crimes,” said the old man, taking his eyes off the elf and turning them towards the moonlit sea, whose waves crashed gently upon the rocky shore. “Your sister. She was a working girl, wasn’t she?”

  So he and Evrill have been gossiping, thought Calcifer dryly. “She did what she had to when it was needed. And she tried very hard to help others when she could. What’s it matter?”

  “She was a pale girl, right? Slender with dark hair like yours?”

  Gods, if this man fucked my sister, would you please kill me? “You speak as if you knew her,” said Calcifer, glaring at Pendragon, who would not meet his gaze. “Did you?”

  “After Pierah killed Phineas, the city erupted. I barely made it out of the human district alive. Elfkin were being butchered in the streets.”

  Pierah? So our new hellion has a name. “You should have felt right at home then,” snapped Calcifer. “What were you going to say about my sister?”

  “As I was fleeing the city,” Pendragon continued with a sigh, “there was a mob outside the Bleeding Hearts brothel, supervised by Queensguard and Arterius Blake. Outside was where…” He paused. “Where I saw your sister being violated.”

  “How do you know it was my sister?” asked Calcifer, getting angrier. “Plenty of girls got the same treatment.”

  “I returned to Norfield after the riots had ended, disguised as an old blind priest of Cambrian. No one paid me any attention, and I played the part well. The surviving elfkin had been thrown out of the city under the guise of “keeping order.” I stole a farmer’s wagon and ferried a group of refugees to Harpy’s Point. As fate would have it, your sister was among them and was being cared for by an old elf eunuch. I don’t know if he worked for the brothel and I never learned his name. When we arrived at Harpy’s Point, Evrill told me that she was the Bottler’s sister. I believe fate led me to her.”

  Rage boiled up from deep inside Calcifer. “Amernia’s best swordsman lets a woman get raped to death by a mob?” hissed Calcifer. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Tell me, did you make any effort to stop them?”

  “I did not,” Pendragon said softly. “It would have been suicide.”

  “You should have died fighting,” Calcifer growled, his hands glowing gold and blue with flame.

  Pendragon turned and stared the elf down. “I know, and you’re right. I tried to help the refugees as much as I could. If you want to kill me I won’t stop you.”

  He’s bigger than me, but so was Bertrand. Even the biggest man will melt, thought Calcifer, staring Pendragon down. I should set him ablaze and kick him down the mountainside for the harpies to pick clean. Pendragon’s green eyes were heavy and full of sorrow. This poor bastard knows only misery… “No,” Calcifer decided. “I don’t believe in your mission. I don
’t think the Wild Hunt is going to be any better for Amernia than the Queen. I think you’re foolish and most likely doomed to fail. But…” He paused. “Even if killing you may be a mercy, I think you are a good man, Pendragon. And there aren’t enough of those to go around. I… forgive… you.” said Calcifer.

  “Thank you,” said Pendragon. “But it’s undeserved. You were wrong about one thing, Calcifer.”

  “And that is?”

  “I’m not a good man.”

  Calcifer went back to his moa and eventually found himself drifting asleep amongst Sheila’s feathers. The following days down the mountain were uneventful as they traveled north and descended down rocky slopes. A few times Pendragon’s cart nearly broke a wheel, but Shrike proved his worth by coming up with a quick fix every time. Eventually they stood in the ruins of an abandoned church atop a cliff at the edge of the Nixus fields.

  The fog seemed to span endlessly across the horizon, although the white spires of Capricorn could be seen in the distance, jutting through the sea of emerald fog.

  Evrill opened a chest in the back of the wagon and handed gas masks to everyone. “Will you be needing one, Calcifer?” she asked while Shrike and Pendragon fumbled with theirs.

  “Not necessary. Nixus isn’t effective on my kind,” said Calcifer as he struggled to strap a mask around his moa’s head. “Hold still,” he ordered the stubborn bird as she squawked and chirped in defiance. Pendragon’s horse proved more cooperative as she was masked, hardly even bothering to notice.

  “Donning the old dragon scales?” Shrike asked Pendragon as he pried open the crate containing the knight’s armor.

  “I feel naked without it,” said Pendragon.

  “Good. You’re beginning to smell like you shit inside your skin. The armor should help. Although…” Shrike eyed Pendragon. “If you’re trying to be a man of peace, you’re doing it wrong. Waltzing in clad like you’re about to kick someone’s ass isn’t exactly the brightest idea for opening diplomatic relations.”

  “I’m not worried,” said Pendragon. “I doubt they’ll kill me. Even if peace isn’t an option, I have my uses.”