Fireborn Champion

by AB Bradley

  “Crevasse?” Iron followed Sander to where their wall met another in a sharp point. The catwalk climbed the angle in steep switchbacks. They ascended in a rush, pushing past grumbling locals.

  As they climbed, the wind gained strength. So did his heartbeat. “Is the fog going to clear?”

  “Maybe,” Sander said. “And just in time. Keep your head down, and when we get to the top, have a look. Your first city, Iron. Take a really, really good look. We might not be in another place this size for a spell or two until I learn more about what that heretic Sol’s been doing.”

  “Thank you!” All other curious thoughts vanished behind his excitement. Their feet pounded up the ramps at a slower pace than he liked even though his breath came in hot puffs. Eventually, he glanced up and spotted the final ramp before the open sky.

  Iron bounded past Sander and leapt onto the flat ice. His shoes crunched in a soft layer of snow. Wind whistled through his hair. Above the crevasse, a flat plain dotted with the odd shanty home here and there stretched into eternity. He turned, rushing along the ground to a cobbled path with a railing lined by lanterns swinging gently in the wind.

  He grabbed the rail and leaned against the wood as a gale whooshed into him, blasting the fog that had filled the crevasse in an enormous wave that spilled over Iron and blotted out the world for a few thrilling heartbeats.

  The last trails of fog drifted over his shoulders, and Ormhild crystallized. He stood above an enormous crevasse shearing deep into an equally vast glacier. Catwalks lined the walls, the walkways strung with sagging ropes and dotted with lamps, some lit, most not. More people than Iron had ever imagined milled on the thin bridges running along different levels of the wall and zigzagging over a sea churning with foam and dark water.

  Voices drifted into the sky, a song of society with its own wonderful rhythm. These voices carried emotion, so much emotion. Love, hate, hurt, joy, frustration, impatience—he heard them all on the low thrum bouncing off the deep glacial crack. “There are so many of them.”

  “Thousands,” Sander said, idling beside him. “Tens of thousands.” He swept his arm toward the sea. “Welcome to Ormhild, seat of power in Skaard. Look to the horizon, Iron, and see its guardians.”

  Iron pressed harder into the railing as he angled over the precipitous drop. In the distance, towering even above the mighty glacier, two skeletons held an archway carved of ice. Massive lanterns dangled between them, tied around the ice by ropes wider in diameter than Iron. The skeletons held the arch high and faced the open sea. These things, they did not fear. Even in death, they laughed at the tiny creatures beneath them.

  Iron’s knuckles whitened on the rails “Titans.”

  “Titans. The giants of the First Sun. Not even the alp matched them in power.”

  “Why do cities make them monuments? The titans were evil and fought the Six. They should be ground to dust, not glorified.” Iron leaned back from the drop.

  “Spoken like a true priest and apprentice to a wise and handsome master. They say it proves the dominance of man over all things.” In the crevasse, clunky bells began to ring, followed by distant shouts reverberating from the lowest levels.

  Sander groaned and waved Iron down the path. “C’mon, the docks aren’t far.”

  He walked behind his master, head down. “But mankind does dominate the world. The titans were of the First Sun. We’re in the Third. It’s us who rule Urum. Right?”

  Sander tugged his hood in a friendly greeting at a passerby who pointedly ignored him. Iron wished at least someone in this city remembered how to smile. Instead, he felt their suspicious eyes on him.

  “Eh, who knows. I left my scrying mirror to the Six in my other pants when I fled here with you in my arms.” Sander chuckled and brushed past a group of men that reeked of fish. “I don’t think people really see titan corpses as a sign of mankind’s power. More likely they’re afraid of what else might lurk in the world. The more power we have, the more we fear there’s something out there that will take it from us. Believe me when I say not all things that are dead are always gone.”

  “Thank the Sinner, the titans aren’t haunting us. Their Sun set.”

  His master paused at the first ramp sloping toward the docks. He looked at Iron with sad memories swirling in his eyes. “So did the alp’s once, Iron, and they’re back. Dark days are these, and darker yet the days before us.”

  Like a bolt of black, Sander dashed down the ramp, but Iron hesitated. It was a rare day when Sander spoke to him like that. The city, the people, the majestic skeletons guarding the horizon—they all grew a little darker then, and for the first time since they’d left, Iron missed home.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ayska Masrari

  Each harried step took Iron and Sander closer to Ormhild’s raucous dock district. The harbor sat on an open side of the glacier where black stones formed a thin beach at its icy base. Long, wide docks stretched into the ocean. On either side, ships bobbed in the rough waters of the Sapphire Sea’s northern shores. Many of the ships looked similar to one another: long, narrow hulls ending in ornate prows and sporting a single towering mast on which a great sail flapped in the chilly breeze.

  Iron knew a Skaard ship when he saw it. He’d often studied these ships in Sander’s journals. They fascinated him, how they sailed over the waters as easily as he skated over snow whenever he used the Sinner’s magic. But unlike him, the ships got to see the world while he withered away in isolation. Maybe now that would change.

  A smattering of unfamiliar vessels disrupted the uniform lines of Skaard’s ships. Some of the foreign boats had tall hulls and masts for many sails. Others were clearly built for speed with their low, shallow frames and few masts. Flags of every kind and color fluttered in the stiff wind, each one bearing a symbol of its origin.

  Structures lined the black beach, crowding each other on tiered platforms. Each building had an angled roof over long, rectangular walls. Chimneys cast smoke in lazy fingers from their mouths, but the sea breeze quickly disbursed the dark lines. Here more than anywhere else squawking birds wheeled through the sky with their curved yellow beaks and pointed white wings.

  “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 me. 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 hi
s 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, h
e 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.”