# THE BLOODHEART

## Book One of the Relic Cycle

## Steve Rzasa

¶

Copyright (C) 2017 by Steve Rzasa

Cover design by Kirk DouPonce

ISBN: 9781512347333

## TABLE OF CONTENTS

  * Acknowledgments
  * The First Chapter
  * The Second Chapter
  * The Third Chapter
  * The Fourth Chapter
  * The Fifth Chapter
  * The Sixth Chapter
  * The Seventh Chapter
  * The Eight Chapter
  * The Ninth Chapter
  * The Tenth Chapter
  * The Eleventh Chapter
  * The Twelfth Chapter
  * The Thirteenth Chapter
  * The Fourteenth Chapter
  * The Fifteenth Chapter
  * The Sixteenth Chapter
  * The Seventeenth Chapter
  * The Eighteenth Chapter
  * The Nineteenth Chapter
  * The Twentieth Chapter
  * The Twenty-First Chapter
  * The Twenty-Second Chapter
  * The Twenty-Third Chapter
  * The Twenty-Fourth Chapter
  * The Twenty-Fifth Chapter
  * The Twenty-Sixth Chapter
  * The Twenty-Seventh Chapter
  * The Twenty-Eighth Chapter
  * The Twenty-Ninth Chapter
  * The Thirtieth Chapter
  * The Thirty-First Chapter
  * The Thirty-Second Chapter
  * The Thirty-Third Chapter

# ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

~

Many thanks to a handful of people who made this novel possible:

My wife, Carrie, and my boys Ben and Nate for their unswerving support of my brain-draining habit of creating new worlds;

Kirk DouPonce, for his outstanding cover;

Kerry Nietz, for his eBook conversion and his publishing counsel;

Nadine Brandes and Jamie Waters, for their two very different and equally important sets of advice upon reading the draft of _The Bloodheart_ ;

Tim Joseph, for his guidance on the physics of a very large object falling into an even larger body of water and the catastrophic consequences thereof;

Also, thanks to my friend and colleague Megan Herold, who, when I pondered where to fit a dramatic moment into the story's beginning, said, "Why not make it the ending?"

Good advice.

# THE FIRST CHAPTER

~

### Bowen

THE FIRST RULE OF MAGIC is this: The dead cannot be returned to us. They are forever beyond our embrace, lost on a far-off horizon we can never reach.

This I know to be true. It has been four years to the day that my beloved wife died.

There is no man to blame. A fever took her in the dead of winter. One day we stoked the fires at our home, trudged through snow up to our knees to feed the sheep, roasted lamb on the spit as darkness fell, and made love by the last embers of the hearth.

Not seven days later, the light went out of her eyes.

You would not think that to be foremost on my mind as I sit before the bar at the Ragged Sails, the most desired tavern in all of Bristol-on-Sky. The crowd is boisterous and cheerful. Every other man here is a sailor on a cloud schooner from some far-flung port. The rest are dock workers in town, who have seats at the Ragged Sails so well-used their buttocks have left permanent saddles in the wood. There is so much smoke in the air I can scarce see the tankard cupped in my hands, let alone smell its contents.

My name is Bowen Cord. Once I was a freeman landowner. Now I have only my cutter to my name, and a solid aethershard to keep her aloft. Aye, she's a fine vessel, yet I share none of the glee of these men around me. The Festival of the Third Season holds little appeal. They boast of cargoes delivered and perils skirted, storms avoided and masters made proud.

I have no master.

"Did you hear what I said, Cord?" The man sitting to my left has one less eye and nine fewer teeth than I. He also has five bronze coins in his pocket that up until moments ago lived happily in mine. The man is short, balding, and smells strongly of sardines--strongly enough to penetrate the smoke. His voice cuts through the din, whining and insistent. "I tell you, corsairs sacked Applemont not four nights past. They gave no care for its people. Killed every last man, woman and child afloat. Tossed 'em over the edge..." He shudders. "No way to die, if you ask me.

I down ale. Foul and watered down. Had I paid for this swill? Yes, the pouch in my tunic was lighter. "What of it? They lacked in both weaponry and magic, obviously. If they fell to corsairs they were weak as this drink."

"That's the rub. They were a coven of soulmages, word has it."

Indeed? Ale dribbles past my lips, sopping my beard and wetting the front of my tunic. It's my favorite one of two my beloved gave me at Solstice six winters ago. A cobalt blue, now stained a darker blue in some spots. I rub at my mouth with my sleeve. "You're certain?"

"That I am." He grins. What a ghastly sight.

Soulmages. I'd not expected to hear a whole village of them wiped clean off their isle. "You say their city is ransacked? Unguarded?"

He nods, eager as a mutt awaiting scraps from the master's table. "The corsairs stripped all the gold, precious stones and other loot. But you know them: right dunces when it comes to anything involving magic."

"Yes. Yes, indeed." Magic. My hands tighten about the tankard. Did it feel colder? I hope not. "Don't toy with me. Are there relics there? Or is your information spotty at best?"

"Never! I'd not cheat you. My information is always accurate." He plays the affronted professional quite well. As a matter of fact, he would not hesitate to cheat me. He's done it before. But this time around, it's different.

He doesn't know what I hunt.

"Applemont. I've never been there." I scratch at my beard. Play the disinterested part. He'll see that and believe I need persuading.

"It's three days' flight due south." His left hand slips into his cloak. My right hand is on the hilt of my falchion, a stout short sword suited to cleaving armor as well as flesh. His gaze follows the motion, and his eyes widen. "No need for alarm."

I smile. "Merely being cautious."

"A fine trait." He sets a crumpled parchment on the bar. "I have a map, it so happens. Difficult to get one's hands on a chart such as this. All the known winds and lands within four hundred miles of Bristol-on-Sky and the Soaring Green Isles."

"Quite useful." Yes, how well I know this game. It's easy enough to trade a few more pieces of silver for the chart. He's true to his word. Applemont is off to the south, and though my charts are superior to this one, none of them have the town marked on it.

Places not marked on any chart tend to be the most profitable. That's all that drives me.

I slide the silver coins under the map. "Always a pleasure."

"Fair skies and rising winds, Captain." He slinks off into the crowd. The coins have vanished.

I finish my ale. No, I cannot tell you his name, for I make it a point never to ask. That is for the best. Someday I will ask him for information, and someone will take offense to his investigations. They will slit his throat ear to ear, if he's lucky. If he's not, well, over the edge he goes.

The noise of the tavern swirls about me, as fluid as the smoke from pipes. I order another drink--whiskey, to wash the filth of that ale from my mouth. My head buzzes delightfully. I've almost forgotten her.

The bartender is a tall, surly reptiloid missing his right arm. His eyes are bright yellow and bulge out, thrice as big as man's. Where skin and hair should clothe a man he has iridescent green scales and red spikes. He slides a glass of Sixty-Six Thirty down the counter.

"Many thanks." I pass him coin. An expensive night, this is turning out. "What's the word on your arm, Skaarl?"

He massages a bump where his right shoulder ends. His voice is a low, guttural hiss of words. "Three. Weekssss. Fassster with healerssss."

"Ah. Have you any rubies for the healers?"

Skaarl does his best impression of a shrug. Awkward as it is. "No. Ssssave me ssssome. Your nexxxxt ssssail."

We both chuckle at this. He knows I'd sooner crack my cutter's aethershard than lend him rubies. Just as he'd never accept anything on credit from me. Skinflint.

Skaarl bares his fangs and lurches toward the other end of the bar. The men there are loud and drunk. They simmer once Skaarl looms over them. Most patrons do.

Not I. Few know he has a pet rabbit in his room.

The whiskey burns my throat. Ah, that's fine, it is. Much better than that swill the dwarves call ale. Yet it hasn't the intended effect. My memories of my beloved are more vibrant. She's there with me, hand caressing my knee.

Until I blink, and she's gone. Again.

"You're sitting with your back to the door." A hand grips my shoulder. The voice is a smooth baritone with a lilt I'd recognize were I struck blind on the morrow. "And don't bother with the blade. You'd be too slow."

"You could simply avoid stalking me, Niall." A glance behind my right shoulder confirms that my first mate Niall Phelan does stand behind me. He smiles slyly, green eyes aglitter. Unlike most of the men in the tavern, his hair is a fiery red, wild and unruly. Far ruddier than my own locks, which tend toward auburn. He wears a ruddy brown cloak over a brilliant red tunic and tan trousers. None fit him well. Baggy as empty flour sacks. He props a shiny black boot up on the bar stool to my left, the one my informant emptied.

Niall grins. His teeth are decidedly sharper than a man's should be, or so my whiskey-addled eyes suggest. "Ah, and where would be the fun in that, now? A vulpex must keep his hunting skills sharp. Never know when the chance arises to nab prey."

"I'd hardly call your captain and friend prey."

"True." He sits on the stool.

"Do you bring word from the ship? Or have you come only to play nursemaid?"

"The former. Ariya bids you good evening and says we can make sail at first light."

"Good evening." I snort and down more whiskey. Ack, but it burns. "Translation: She's madder than a wet hen that I've not inspected her repairs to the foremast and threatens to cast off without me."

"She'd make good on the threat, I'm afraid." Niall drums his fingers on the bar.

Skaarl is there instantly. He snarls. It is his way of politely inquiring, "And what will ye drink, fine sir?"

Niall sniffs the air. "Red wine, please. Only a glass. Bordeaux, if you have it, and a quail for meat."

Skaarl shuffles off, muttering something that sounds like a mix of Reptilish and German.

"He hates wine, you know. The smell gives him a headache."

"Oh, I know." Niall winks. "And how went your evening chat?"

I pat the crumpled chart still sitting on the bar. "You can tell Ariya we make for Applemont, at her convenience, of course."

"Applemont." Niall's eyes glitter. "So you were right."

"Soulmage relics, Niall. A fortune to the right buyer." That's all I fancy. The money to keep my cutter aloft and sailing. "We're off on the Arch Stream as soon as the winds pick up with the sun's rising."

"Fantastic! I'll not keep you from sharing the news with our fine and fancy-free sailmistress." A plate rattles across the bar, bare minutes from his order, halting before him--quail, dripping with grease and blood. To describe it as rare is an understatement. Niall tears off a wing and rends the meat from the bone with one yank of his teeth. "Go on now, get along home, Captain. I'll enjoy my wine and watch your back."

I scowl. A foul trick. But I know as well as he does it's for the best. Ariya is not one to trifle with when she's in a mood. Best if I do what the crew recommends. Nosy lot.

I polish off my drink. The room spins as I stand. Steady on. Nothing I can't handle. Like being on the deck of the _Sleet_ when she's tilted athwart the winds blowing off a thunderhead, navigating a barroom whilst inebriated requires both skill and practice. I have both.

I make it to the door without disturbing anyone else's drink. There's a large dog resting under a bench to one side. The men at the table pay it no heed. He is a husky, bright white and coal black.

"Come along, Gridley." I snap my fingers twice. "Walk me home, boy."

His eyes snap open. They're blue as sky. He is on his paws instantly, and slips out from under the bench. His tail thumps against the wall.

"There's a good lad." I scratch Gridley behind the ears. His tongue hangs out.

"Ye've got as tame a hound as I've e'er seen," says one drunk. With his eyes as crossed as they are I'm surprised he can tell a dog from the hind end of an ox. Foam sloshes from his tankard onto the floor. "What're ye willin' to sell him fer?"

Gridley gives me a look. It drips disdain. _Really, Bowen? This is the crowd with whom you spend your time? Men are strange creatures._

"Good sir, he'd cost you far more silver than you could lift a city with." I give a slight bow and sweep to the door. Laughter follows my footsteps.

I reach for the handle. Frost crackles across the wrought iron. My hand tingles, and the fingertips glow blue like the stars in a moonless sky.

Gridley's mouth snaps shut. He cocks his head. His glance asks me, _What was that about?_

"Sorry. Too much drink loosens the old control." I shake my hand vigorously. The blue fades, as does the feeling of pins and needles. The frost quickly melts.

The second rule of magic is this: Once learned, it can never be denied. It is your birthright or it is not.

How I wish it were the latter.

# THE SECOND CHAPTER

~

I almost step on the boy sitting outside the bar.

Night has fallen. The sky above is black velvet studded with diamond stars. I could see more if not for the illumination from the tavern windows and the torches in visible in a dozen other homes.

There is a barrel just outside the tavern door that, of course, I fail to notice until my hip connects with it. It is full of rotting food and other, unidentifiable refuse. It all stinks to high heaven.

Gridley barks. His irritation is evident.

"Sorry, boy. Promise I'll watch my step from here on out."

He ignores my outstretched hand. Instead he rounds the barrel, tail wagging as happily as if he's treed a squirrel.

No squirrel. There's a tuft of black hair, barely visible in the flicker of orange lamplight through the tavern window. I would have missed it if not for Gridley's investigation.

It is a boy, no older than ten or eleven. All I can see are a pair of ears, pale as cow horn, beneath the hair. The rest of his face is buried deep in the rags he wears. At one time they may have been a fine tunic that fit him well, but now they are soiled and torn and ill-patched. His arms wrap about his knees, pulling them close for warmth. I can only imagine--even with my cloak cinched tight, this autumn evening's chill is enough to feather my breath.

Perhaps it is the whiskey, but my heart aches for the boy. Beggars I despise. There's plenty of work to be had without panhandling for coin, thank you very much, but to see a child in such a lonesome state...

Gridley whines. He looks from me to the boy.

Yes, I know, let me think. There are few options in Bristol-on-Sky. No innkeeper I know would be willing to take him in, even if I were to pay. And the Church has no orphanages here. They are not the finest places in which to spend one's youth, but then again, no one else believes a lone, abandoned child to be worth two bits.

There is a cup sitting in the dirt in front of him. It is empty, except for two pebbles.

My pity burns to anger. Yes, that is the whiskey at play. No one has given him so much as a copper.

Gridley gives me another of his looks. _You cannot leave him out here. Show mercy._

I tell you, I would make a better captain could I command my crew half as well as they command me. "It's rather cold out tonight, lad."

He says nothing. His face remains buried in his arms.

"There is lodging upstairs. I could have a word with the innkeeper, drop some silver into his palm..." The suggestion hangs there, unfinished and unanswered. Can he hear the half-lie in my voice? It rankles me.

His head shakes. No, then. Gridley does not take this as a rejection. He sniffs at the boy's hair, and licks his hands. He is a right sap for children, always has been. Not that I have room to talk.

I like to think he would have been a fine dog to keep watch on mine own children, had my beloved and I been so blessed.

Gridley's ministrations yield a giggle.

"Come now, lad, we shouldn't tarry out of doors." On cue, boots crunch on dirt and gravel. I hear the men before I turn to look. Four of them--stout, burly arms, filthy beards and greasy hair. Their frocks mark them as stevedores. They sneer.

My face stays impassive. My cloak, however, shifts enough for them to behold my falchion in its scabbard on my left hip. There's a wheellock pistol strapped to the right in its holster. Gridley knows his place well. He lopes up next to me, teeth bared, a growl rising deep in his throat.

That is enough to dissuade any further curiosity. They amble down the street, casting dark looks back our direction.

"You didn't need to scare them."

The boy's voice is clear and strong as diamond. He's staring at me. His eyes are the deepest brown I have ever seen. At first I mistake him for a Nordic by his features, but the light shifts enough to reveal the narrow eyes and round face of the Asiatic. No smile, but he is rubbing Gridley's head.

"And why not?" I let the cloak cover my weaponry.

"They would not have hurt me. It is not my time. Soon. But not now."

"I see." Not really. But the important thing is to get this lad off the street. "Come now. You should be indoors. Bristol-on-Sky is not a terrible place as far as port cities go, but it's not a monastery either."

"I am safe. You'll protect me, won't you?"

Won't I? There's a pressure in my head that grows, unpleasant, buzzing. It certainly encouraged me thus. "Ah... that is, I could certainly find you safe lodging."

"Oh, but I don't need a place to rest. I'm going on a journey."

"A journey?" I laugh. "Paid for with what, the rocks in your tin? I'd wager you haven't two coppers between your fingers."

Gridley glares at me. It's a definite scolding. But I'll take no backtalk from him. My head buzzes. Too much whiskey. And something else is going on, but what, I cannot pinpoint.

A murmur?

"I won't need money. I'm going to Applemont." The boy stands. His posture is firm, and belies the hunched urchin with whom I assume I've been conversing.

Gridley sidles up to the boy and barks. His tail wags, thumps against the barrel. I tell you, there is no loyalty. Traitor.

The buzzing clears from my head, a curtain of fog dissolving before the sun. Applemont? Has this boy been eavesdropping? Perhaps he somehow spotted he map I purchased. Or overheard my plans.

No. The tavern was too noisy. I chose it for that reason. And if a mere boy had been inside, amongst the workers and ruffians, I surely would have noticed. Even after the whiskey.

This boy makes me wary. Even more so than the four men who passed earlier.

There's a tingling in my hand as a result. It feels cold. Steady, now. Maintain control. "It's not wise to venture there, lad. I hear tell the town has been sacked."

He looks at me with eyes so sad, yet his demeanor is utter calm. My mum was the same away. "I know. I was there. But they didn't see me. It wasn't my time. I hid."

"I'm flummoxed, then. Why in the name of the edge would you want to go back?"

"Something was left behind. Something important. It must be kept from wrong hands."

He stares at me. The smile is gone. Chills skitter down my spine. The tingling in my hand worsens. Steady, Bowen. "What is it you seek?" I ask.

"It is the Bloodheart," he whispers. "And it is very dear to me."

The shivers throughout my body had nothing to do with the evening cold. "This is madness. There's no way...what would make you think I am off to voyage anywhere near to Applemont? What tells you I have the transport to accomplish such a trek?"

The boy reaches out for the edge of my cloak. He presses it to his nose. "You carry the smell of sea and sky. Tar. Hemp. Cotton. Wood. You have a ship."

Gridley makes no move to interpose himself between us. That mongrel trusts this lad as well as he does me. "How do you know I've not been merely a passenger?"

"The way you speak. Only a captain of men has a voice like yours. I can hear the authority."

My laugh startles me. "You had best remind my crew. By thunder, lad, I don't know what game you're playing at, but it is a fine one."

"Will you take me to Applemont, then?"

It's a tricky business, this. Niall, Ariya, they know how to fight. Gridley, too. Our trip will not lack peril, with corsairs about in that region. But there is something about this child that urges me, compels me to take him under my wing. It is a nuisance and a comfort all at once. "You have no way to pay transport."

"I can work hard. My parents taught me how to be useful."

"Aboard a ship, though?"

His smile is full of mischief. "How do you suppose I came to Bristol-on-Sky?"

"You have a fire, that's certain." Niall will dislike this. Ariya will dislike this even more. Unfortunately for them I am still the captain, and equally as important, _Sleet_ 's owner. "Very well then. Since you talk a good game and possess keen skills of observation, I welcome you aboard _Sleet_ for its voyage to Applemont. You'll work for a wage. We take no lounging passengers."

Gridley barks his approval. He rubs up against my leg with his head. I scratch him behind the ears. "Also, lad, I let you join us because Gridley's taste in character is impeccable."

"I won't disappoint you, sir."

"My name is Bowen. Bowen Cord. You may, and will, call me Captain." There ought to be some semblance of order in these proceedings, after all.

We shake hands. His grip has surprising strength for his age and size, especially given his forlorn condition. This is part of his ruse, I suspect.

"Thank you, Captain."

"What may I call you? 'Boy' or 'lad' has become tiresome."

"My name is Luc."

"Luc. No family name?"

"I have no family anymore. So I don't need it." His voice is soft, but not sorrowful.

"I'm sorry. Their lost must sadden you."

"It does. But I am sad now about the violence to come."

The what? "I don't understand."

Gridley growls low.

I spin around. The four men are back. Confound it. In all my yammering I had missed their return. The whiskey has dulled my senses and made me slow to react. I should know better.

"You'll give that boy up to us, mariner." The man in front of the group is taller than me, as tall as Niall, and twice as wide. Like the rest, his hair is long and foul. He alone has no beard. All of them are blond Nordics, dour folk who prefer battle-axes. These four must be the kind to spurn tradition, for they all wield stilettos. The blades are as narrow as a pair of fingers and as long as my hand.

"I think not. He's bound to me now." I draw my sword. Leave the wheellock under cover of the cloak and pray they've forgotten its existence.

"We'll have him and your guts in the gutter."

Gridley's growling intensifies. The hair bristles on the back of his neck.

Steady boy. Await my direction.

They encircle us. I back away from the tavern wall. We're in the midst of the road. Luc is pressed close to my side. I give him a gentle push to free up room for when I must draw my wheellock.

"Hand him to us." The leader waves his stiletto in a circle.

"No. Be off."

He grins. It's a hideous sight. Like looking into a dragon's maw. His chin lifts.

My blood is pounding in my ears, but even that does not disguise the scuffle of boots on dirt behind me and to my left.

I pivot, and draw my weapon.

Luc yells.

I fire.

# THE THIRD CHAPTER

~

THE NOISE IS EAR-SPLITTING. OUR assailant cries out, guttural and harsh. He could be a bull careening through the meadows. He tumbles, but there's not much I can see. Smoke from the wheellock shrouds everything.

Another man lunges. His form is shadowy through the smoke and the dark. The blade cuts through nothing but air above my head. Close enough I daresay I've a few trimmed hairs.

I hunker and thrust upward with my sword. The impact is a wet, heavy sound, joined by tearing cloth. I turn and shove him off the blade. Warm liquid splashes down my cloak, onto my boots. It stains the ground in a dark puddle.

Luc weeps.

Gridley barks, loud and savage. He's on top of one man, and clamps his jaws onto a flailing arm. The man's scream makes the ringing in my ears worse.

Luc cries out. I cannot hear the words. A warning? I react, turning enough so that the stiletto sails through the air, tearing my cloak. The leader is on me in a flash of metal. He has another blade, a longer one with a serrated edge. Goodness knows where he had that secreted.

I parry the blow easily, without thought. Blades clang against each other, flashing in the dim light from the tavern's windows. He's a strong one, this beast, but uses sloppy form. I use his lack of skill against him. Yet his blows drive me closer to the tavern wall. If he presses my back against it, I'll have no room to maneuver. I need a distraction. "Gridley!"

A roar rattles the glass panes of the tavern windows. That is decidedly not Gridley, who still has a mouthful of the other assailant's arm. The door bangs open with such force that wood splinters and hinges made of rusting iron twist. There stands a fearsome creature, eight feet tall, wearing clothes that burst at the seams and a ruddy brown cloak. The beast is covered in red fur, except for its throat and chest, which are white as snow. Its eyes gleam green and its fangs drip saliva. The snarl rising from its throat startles even me.

Thank heavens for you, Niall.

He lunges at my assailant. The man yelps, slashes with the blade. Niall's claws rake its surface with a terrible screeching that rends the night. The blade spins off into the night, a glittering pinwheel.

Niall roars. Spittle sprays all over the leader's face. Gone is the expression of the swaggering thug who boasted of my demise. I see only a scared bully stripped of his power. He bolts.

I trip him.

He skids along the dirt, coughs up dust. Niall seizes the back of his cloak and hauls him up, up, until he's dangling a foot off the ground. He's blubbering.

Niall puts his fangs close to the man's ear. His voice is a vicious, rumbling distortion of my first mate's cheery tone. "Run along, worm, afore I sate my hunger."

With that Niall flings the man aside. He slams against a house on the other side of the road and slides down, a sodden lump. He scrambles to his feet, cradling his left arm, and runs.

"Gridley!" I bound toward my faithful companion but he's already released his plaything. The other assailant takes off after his leader.

Gridley barks in triumph. I holster my wheellock and rough the fur behind his ears. "That's a good boy. You did well."

Niall laughs. It's a ghoulish sound. "Will you scratch behind my ears as well? I am the hero of the hour."

"That you are. But you'll have to get Ariya to reach up there if you desire a loving touch."

"Loving indeed. She'd just as soon put a knife to my fur."

I sheath my sword. There's blood on my shirt from the first assailant slain. "You can put your claws away now, methinks."

Niall's body contorts. Red fur shortens, fades to flesh. Clothes loosen to baggy again. He grins. The fangs shorten into teeth, albeit sharp ones. He's again a vulpex in the state of a man. "Were you going to leave me out of the revelry, Captain? It's a good thing I retain my outstanding hearing when not dressed as a beast."

"I thought about knocking on the door to see if you were asleep or in the arms of a comely barmaid, but I was otherwise occupied." I glance about. Two assailants lay dead in the street. There is no sign of the others. Nor have any guardsmen come a'running. Though I suspect at this time of night in Bristol-on-Sky they have other matters to attend than a brawl.

"And who's the lad?"

I had nearly forgotten the newest addition to the crew. Luc is behind the barrel again, standing there with his hands on Gridley's head and a mournful frown on his face.

"This is Luc. He's working for passage to Applemont."

"Applemont?" Niall's eyebrows rise. "A happy coincidence."

"Indeed." I hold out my hand. "Come along, Luc, we must make for the ship."

He shakes his head. "You are like them. You hurt and kill, just like a corsair."

My hand tingles. The cold gnaws at the bones in my palm. Pain fueled by adrenaline pushes me to anger. "If I had not acted you'd be abducted or dead. You'd have me stand by and not resist? I won't lay down my arms for the likes of them, the filth of the skies. I'd rather cut out my own entrails."

This life is all I have. Once, there was a great deal more. Her eyes still haunt my dreams. But that is done Lost. All that is left is my ship, and my soul.

When I need to fight, my heart ices over. It goes as numb as my hand when the ice summoning beckons.

"Easy, Bowen." Niall's hands press down upon my shoulders. "He must be scared, is all."

Luc does not look scared. He looks sad, and perhaps a touch angry. His glare cools only when Gridley nuzzles against his side and gives me a glance as if to say, _You are the grown man, aren 't you?_

"You have little choice, lad. If you're bound for Applemont, your best chance is with us," Niall says.

"I know. I don't like it, but I will sail with you," Luc whispers. "Know that your ways are wrong."

He walks off down the street, in the direction of the wharf. Gridley lopes alongside, leading him--or does he follow the boy? Gridley looks back at me and barks. I'd not be surprised if they get to _Sleet_ just fine without my guidance.

"Well, now. How did you find that fox's burrow?" Niall shakes his head.

"Do not ask. Let's be off."

The icy tingles lance through my hand. The temptation is there, to freeze these hooligans until their blood thickens in their hearts. Yet the fear and anger overwhelm such. The last I made use of magic, it failed me terribly.

It is a curse that cost me my world.

~

We make it to the docks without further difficulty. The sight of the cloudships lifts my spirits in a way that has naught to do with the whiskey.

Eighteen ships are berthed here tonight. A few are the huge, lumbering carracks laden with cargoes of the Far East. Most have the sleek hulls of schooners and sloops and barques. They all hang in the air, sails rustling in the night winds, trailing pennants of red, green, tan and white, depending upon which master flies his colors.

Mine is the vessel third from the right end, a cutter sixty feet from stem to stern, bearing a white pennant striped with pale blue. My _Sleet_.

The docks reach out from Bristol-on-Sky to the ships like a crone's fingers, dark and spindly. Above them is the night sky, and two thousand feet below, the deep black of the ocean. A soft green glow pervades the air between us and the sea. If you were stout of heart enough to chance a climb on the underside of Bristol-on-Sky, you'd touch the aethershards embedded in the rock, the green crystals brimming with magic that keep two thousand souls aloft. Yes, this is one of the five hundred floating cities of the North. Magic is strong here, as the tingling in my hands reminds me.

There's an old man tending the port shack by the fence lining the city's edge. He waves his lantern in a bright yellow arc. "Ho, there, Captain. Ye've come home with a full complement, I sees."

"Without a doubt, Danny. How's things about the docks this fine night?"

He grins, flashing two gold teeth in the lamplight. His hair, the straggly bits not secured under his hood, shines white. I pray he doesn't see the blood. More questions are unwelcome at this point. "It'd be a fine night if that winged wench o' yours would mind her business and leave the rest of the mates to theyselves."

Niall shoulders by me. "You'll not call her a wench again," he grumbles.

"Steady." I press him back gently and favor Danny with my broadest smile. "Come now, Ariya doubtless ran into the wrong folk."

"Oh aye. A few of the boys found themselves pining for company of the softer variety, and she was the prettiest sight around." Danny cackles. "They dinnae find her so willing as the maids in the town, I tell ye. She'd have sent 'em off the edge if I'd not lent the edge of my whip to discipline their hides."

"We'd best not keep her waiting," Niall says. He breezes past us without a how-do-you-do.

"What's eatin' him?" Danny scowls.

"I think he doesn't appreciate your humor." I pass Danny two bits of silver and pat his shoulder. "We're to cast off early. Take good care and mind the edge."

"Fair air for you, Captain." Danny saunters off, a tune whistling from his lips and coin jingling in his pockets.

Ariya Stormquill awaits us.

She swoops down from the rigging and lands at our feet. Her wings are a pearly orange in the dim light from Danny's lantern. Silver flashes around the pale blue irises of her eyes, like summer lightning glimpsed behind clouds. She's lithe and graceful, her shape complemented by the shape of brown trousers and a white blouse. Three purple slashes are tattooed to her left cheek. Ariya is a heavenly sight with long blond hair.

But her attitude is decidedly of this world. "Where have you been? You were due back aboard ship long ago."

"Forgive me, Ariya, but I was under the impression I was the captain of this vessel and so it must await my return before it sails."

She frowns, yet it does nothing to diminish her cold beauty. "Of course, Captain. I did not mean to imply otherwise."

Niall snorts. "Whoever said the Aevorn have no sense of humor never met our dear Ariya. Come on, lass, we had ourselves a bit of fun in the old town. Picked up a passenger too."

"The boy?" Ariya folds her arms, crossing leather gauntlets. The effect is altogether imperious. I feel the urge to bow. "He looks weak. Too young for our travels."

"Nonsense. He's a sturdy lad." I have no notion as to whether this is true even as the words leave my lips.

Ariya's gaze fixes on Luc. I've seen men bigger than the hooligans who accosted us quail under just such a look. But the lad stands there, smiles that enigmatic smile of his, and pats Gridley atop the head.

"Very well. I expect he can be of some use to me." She turns to Niall. "Supplies are all loaded. Water, powder, food--"

"Pork?" The saliva glistens on Niall's teeth.

Ariya rolls her eyes. "I procured a dozen pounds. Consider yourself fortunate, savage."

"Ah, under your capable wings I remain an ever grateful fox." Niall saunters past her and swings himself aboard _Sleet_. She glares after him.

"Well let's not keep the dawn waiting, shall we? Ready us to cast off." I direct Luc up the gangplank. Gridley shepherds the boy.

"Captain. What happened in town?"

Ah, Ariya. Senses trouble as easily as some men can sense a change in weather. "I found all we needed to know. We sail for Applemont. I have the chart here." I pat my chest.

"And what of the blood?" She fingers my cloak. "You hide it poorly."

"We ran afoul of some Nordics. They were after the boy." There's no profit in hiding things from her. I'd rather a barrister from Buckingham query me before a grand jury than face her interrogatives. "I was not about to leave him to fend for himself. And he hails from Applemont."

Ariya looks middeck, where Niall shows Luc the ship's hold. "I don't like this. I see dark clouds all around him. Poor visibility."

You can't ask for a more worrisome set of words from an Aevorn. I pat her shoulder. "Fear not, Ariya. Your dauntless captain knows what he's doing."

She gives me the look. Not a come-hither beckoning, but rather the long suffering glower of an older sister wondering when her sibling will cease tripping over her skirts.

"Very well, Captain. I hope to the Airs you know what you're doing." Her wings spread wide, reaching twelve feet tip to tip, and with a powerful flap she's airborne, up to the dark webs of the rigging.

"Your captain hopes so too, Ariya," I mutter.

~

Niall and Ariya cast us off. Gridley races about, yipping his excitement. Luc lends a hand where he can, running out the green departure pennants fore and aft. Danny waves his lantern below as we rise from the berth. His shouted blessing is lost amidst the creak of the hull, the rustle of the sails and the rush of the wind.

I am at the wheels, where I belong.

A turn of the rise-wheel rotates a long arm through the deck, which I can feel rumble under my feet. That spins the gears that tighten the iron vise grasping an aethershard the size of a chicken's egg--translucent, with pale green glow. Tighten the vise and the magic lifts your vessel. Loosen the grip and you descend. But take care not to do either with excessive vigor, lest the shard crack and you plummet.

I take _Sleet_ up above the rest of the docked ships, and turn us to starboard. Clouds whip along to the south in the Arch Stream. Bubbles rise in the glass tube affixed to the ahead-wheel and tell me we're rising to three thousand feet, the lower edge of the Stream.

Dawn peeks over the horizon, shooting a purple sky through with golds and reds. The air is quick and cold up here. Niall shouts out a greeting, and Ariya soars alongside, inspecting rigging and sails. She hovers long enough to toss me a salute: all is well.

He gave me great complaint when I hired her as sailmistress, Niall did. Said he wanted nothing to do with the winged demons of her ilk. Watching her deftly sew a rip above a yardarm, then swoop to tighten a loose rope, I know her hire is worth every coin.

We leave Bristol-on-Sky behind us. Hundreds of buildings cluster together on three floating islands, the rock below the green grass dangling toward the sea. Aethershard shimmers in clumps throughout the rock, keeping it afloat. It is all that prevents the entire town from plunging into the dark glass of the ocean below. Chimney smoke curls up from countless homes. The Bard's Lighthouse is a pillar of white stone that we pass as we depart, its tenders flashing a beam of orange light from its mirrors.

This is my life now, far aloft from the farm. Far from her memory. My heart sings and sinks all at once.

This is magic.

# THE FOURTH CHAPTER

~

MY INFORMANT WAS TRUE TO his word. Four days and one half are behind us as Applemont appears on the horizon. Ariya, of course, spots it first. It is a pleasant morning at this altitude, and there's not a cloud for miles.

The smell of rain suffuses everything. We passed through showers a fortnight past. It must have rained here as well. Ariya swoops between the rigging and alights by the ship's wheels. "Isle ahead, Captain. Perhaps twelve miles."

We're clipping along at a considerable pace, perhaps twenty knots. It won't be long, then. I peer ahead, squinting to make out the isle. Yes, there is a speck out there. "It's up a ways, isn't it?"

"Perhaps 10,000 feet." Ariya folds in her wings.

I don't doubt her judgment of distances. Eyes that sharp miss nothing. "You'd best call it then, before Niall sees the isle. You do recall his joy when he is the first to sight land."

Ariya's mouth twists into a wry smile. Niall stands at the bow, nose lifted to the wind, testing the air for scents. "I would not want him to become too confident."

She's off and striding to Niall with such purpose I have a feeling her report to him will be anything but humble. I chuckle and reach down to rub the top of Gridley's head. He's curled at my feet on the sun-warmed wood of the deck. "Not much for their enthusiasm, are you boy?"

Gridley gives a gaping yawn. He graces me with a withering Try not to interrupt my rest and nestles his chin on his forepaws.

"Captain?" Luc is at my side with alarming suddenness. Did the boy not make a sound when he moved? Small wonder he avoided the corsair hordes when they sacked his town.

"We've sighted land, Luc. I suspect it's your home, if this chart is decent." It's tucked into the folds of my cloak. I've read it enough on this voyage to memorize it.

"Home. I don't think I can call it that anymore." He crouches by Gridley, who deigns his presence a great deal more than mine.

Talk of home makes me leery. What home have I except for _Sleet_? "I daresay Gridley has valued your company these past few days, lad. And you've made good account of yourself working the rigging with Ariya and Niall."

A sharp shout echoes across the deck. At the bow, Niall has his arms upraised and an expression of fury on his face. Ariya stands before him, arms folded, smile smug. He bellows something else, muted by the wind and their distance, but she merely extends her wings and rises into a lazy glide that takes her out away from the ship.

"They've been very kind to me, if not to each other," Luc says. "It helps scare off the cold."

"The cold? Luc, we've not had a night of frost this entire voyage. Why even Niall hasn't resorted to putting on his fur to stay warm."

"It isn't that kind of cold. It's the cold that comes with darkness. With death."

Now he's gone and given me the shivers. Can't explain to you the reason why, but there's something in the way his voice lingers in the mind.

Ice prickles my hands. Both of them this time. I grip the rise-wheel with my right and crank. "Up ship!" I holler. "We've altitude to gain before we make landfall, lad. And when we do..."

The pause carries on between us. "Are you afraid, Captain?"

We lock eyes. His show no fear. Can I hide the trepidation in mine own soul? "When we do, you stay close by my side."

~

Applemont is a small village, sitting atop a speck of land a half mile across on a grassy green hillock. White apple blossoms litter the land like snow.

It is a beautiful sight, even with the whole of the habitations reduced to burnt husks.

Smoke still wafts above the village as a storm cloud settles on the sea. What were once neat, clean lines of wood frame and wattle and daub huts are now blackened, twisted skeletons. Nothing moves except for the blossoms and the leaves.

There are bodies on the ground, charred and smudged against the green grass.

I will not despair. Gridley follows Luc to the side. He whines and nuzzles against the boy's leg.

"There's no mistaking the corsairs hit this place." Niall stands by, arms folded. He wrinkles his nose. "It reeks of their cowardice. Death and savagery."

"Keep close watch, Niall, and your claws ready. They may not have quit the town."

A low rumble emanates from his throat. "I pray they give me a chance and a reason."

Ariya soars up to our side, cresting the gunwales. "Shall I scout ahead, Captain?"

"Yes, do. But be wary."

She frowns at me as if I'm a child asking a nonsensical question, then flies off ahead of _Sleet_. The docks are built into the side of the hill, about twenty feet above a broad field. There are enough slips for a dozen craft, yet none are present. Cut ropes flap in the breeze that sends shivers through the branches of the apple trees.

The silence is ever present. I wish for bells marking our arrival, stevedores running for mooring lines. But no one comes. Nothing stirs.

Ariya makes several quick passes over the town. She returns to the ship and waves an all clear sign to me. Safe to take her in to berth, then.

We put in. Niall ties off the moorings. Luc stays near the gunwales, eyes wide. Searching for something, perhaps.

The stench of death is strong. Burnt wood, decomposing flesh, dirt still damp from the rains. The path from the docks leads up the hillock to the ruined village, curving as it wends around a large rain pond the shape of a teardrop.

"Get your gear, my friends. Niall, take a musket."

Niall ducks below deck into the small cabin that acts as our weapons locker. He brings back the long brown firearm, and hands me my wheellock pistol. Niall's katana, its blade slender and curved, rests in a black scabbard etched with brass dragons intertwined. My falchion is still on my belt.

Ariya lands on the path. "There is nothing alive I can see, Captain. There's bodies everywhere. Mostly women and children."

Niall growls. I put a hand on his arm, hoping to cool off the temper flaring. "What of the menfolk?"

"Off the edge." Luc's haunting pronouncement makes all three of us turn his way. Tears glisten in his eyes. "They sent the men off the edge."

My insides churn. That's no decent way to die, but I cannot say I haven't contemplated it in my darkest despair. Falling, flailing, and screaming for long beats of the heart, faster and faster, until you hit the water with enough force to shatter iron. And if you somehow survive the fall, body battered and broken, well, it's a curse rather than a blessing. Rather cut my throat than drown choking on salt water or be devoured by beasts of the deep.

"Niall, my crossbow." Ariya snaps her fingers and flicks her wrist.

Niall hops the gunwales and tosses the weapon to her. He rummages for the quiver and sends that sailing, too. "Anything else thy heart desires, fair lady?"

"Less of your cheek and more of your caution," she says.

"Come along, then." I strap the wheellock to its holster and reach for Luc's hand. "This Bloodheart...take us there."

Luc nods. He wipes away the tears and puts his hand in mine. So small and soft grasped in a man's. Mine must feel as if it's made of tree bark.

Our band sets out on foot up the path. There are no birds chirping, no animal sounds. Life has forsaken this isle. We round a corner and Ariya hisses in a breath. A pair of dogs lay gutted, the ground beneath them angry crimson.

Gridley snarls. His hackles rise.

"Steady, boy. Steady on." My entreaties come in hoarse whispers.

Luc releases his grip on my hand and walks ahead of us. Either he doesn't see the ruined animals or he chooses not to. Smoke drifts across the path, putting his form into shadow. Gridley stays near, ears perked. He neither barks nor whines. I envy his focus.

Niall has the musket slung over his shoulder and one hand on the hilt of his blade. His glare could melt iron. "Have we any clue whence this pup is taking us, Bowen, or have we embarked on a leisurely stroll?"

"Enough, Niall. Trust the boy."

"Do you?"

A fair question. I have no reply. But we both watch the way Gridley protects Luc. That is sufficient. "Trust me, then."

"Ah. You pay me well enough for that." Niall puts on a great grumble, but I know it's more than money that keeps him by my side.

Luc stops at the entrance to the village, at the opposite end of the rain pond from the decks. The surface of the water is littered with blackened straw and burnt cloth. Everything smells fouler than the inside of a reptiloid's latrine. Niall gags.

"Luc? What's wrong?" My hand slips beneath my cloak, reassured by the presence of the wheellock pistol's stock.

"Father took me to the temple once. We didn't go often because it's in a secret place, and only the magi are allowed. Sometimes the good can go, too." Luc frowns. "I'm trying to remember the way. Everything is ... wrong."

"Take your time." I give Niall a nudge and a warning glare before he can say whatever is vitriol bubbling behind his lips. The tensions among us tightens as a noose with every step forward. Boots crunch on dirt and gravel. These are the only sounds--these, and our hushed breaths.

The harsh cawing of crows builds. They're pecking at the remains of the fallen. Ariya whistles, a short, sharp noise that makes the ears ring. The crows scatter.

My blood boils. Women and children slaughtered. Men discarded off the edge as refuse. More and more corpses scattered amongst the desecrated homes.

Niall unsheathes his blade with a soft swish of metal against leather. Its curve catches the sunlight.

Luc leads us to the center of the village, where a circle of paved stones sits unscathed by the fire. There are eight stones, four large and four smaller, each one etched with the points of the compass rose. North, south, east and west are beveled into the rock, which is whiter than any stone I've seen before. Luc stands at the center, which is carved with a radiant sun--no, three of them inset into each other, sharing the same rays. He holds his arms out from his sides.

Gridley stands apart. He sniffs at the edge of the circle and paws at the stones.

I kneel with him. "What is it boy? What do you sense?"

He gives me an all too familiar look of worry.

"Hold fast." I pat him on the head.

Niall paces, nose to the air, blade twitching. "I don't like this. They could be waiting. The corsairs could have left men behind to pick through the remains of the town."

"You would have sniffed them out long before now." Ariya's voice is soft enough to drift away on the breeze. Her eyes are bright and flit from point to point. She misses nothing. "There is no one here. Correct, Captain?"

"She's right. The tracks are old." I brush my hand over a muddle of prints pressed into the dirt. Rough soles. Heavy leather. Uneven edges. Typical of the stout boots employed by corsairs and sailors alike.

"Captain!" Luc's startled whisper jolts my heart. I draw my sword. Ariya draws two daggers from somewhere concealed beneath her wings.

He steps onto the suns at the center of the plaza. "I remember now. I remember where father took me, and how to get there."

"Shark's blood, boy, make quick with the answer!" Niall's growl rumbles from deep in his chest.

Luc closes his eyes. "We are here already."

He presses his hands together beneath his lips. Words form but I cannot hear them. He stands in a trance for so long I fear he will never reawaken. Yet none of us makes a move to jostle him, not even Niall. We hold our blades ready, and I... I hear it. The whisper in my heart.

It's been so long. Yet I hear the words as clear as when they first came to me the day my beloved died.

Seek the home of the soul.

Agony buries me, heavier than any storm's wave. Seek? My beloved sough, mere months before she fell ill. Whispered that very set of speech to me from her deathbed.

He abandoned her.

"What trickery is this?" Ariya's words are expelled in a hiss. "Do you hear the voice?"

Niall turns aside, ready to strike with his katana, the muscles of his forearms taught like ship's rigging. "The spirits of the soulmages reach for us, trying to drive us mad."

"Be quiet!" My command rings out across the plaza. Gridley whines at me, but I ignore him. The buzzing is back in my head. I ignore that too. My thoughts push out everything but this infernal boy. "Luc, I need answers."

"Let me tell you what Father said." Luc turns to face us. Tears run rivulets down his cheeks, but his voice is full of happiness. "'For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy toward them that fear him. As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.'"

With that he steps out to his left, both feet pressing upon the E for east. The stone clicks. And glows the same as an ember loose from the fire.

Luc steps immediately right, onto the W for west. It does the same as the E. Both shine like flame. The ground beneath us rumbles.

I snag Luc's arm and pull him aside. Gridley scuffs back in the dirt, barking madly. The tremors continue as the multiple suns at the center of the plaza split into seven segments, along seams that were until now invisible to us.

The seven fragments melt back into the rock, revealing a set of spiraling steps that descend into the deep darkness of a cavern. A faint yellow glow emanates from crystals set into the white and gray stone walls.

Luc slips free of my grasp, an easy enough thing because my hands have gone numb. He takes three steps down the stairs, then turns to us. "Don't be afraid."

He disappears into the passage.

Gridley barks once more, whimpers. He bolts down the stairs before I can muster a whistle to stop him.

By the five winds, what is this place?

I turn to Niall and Ariya. They stare at me, awaiting my lead. "Come on."

I step inside and am swallowed in cold darkness.

# THE FIFTH CHAPTER

~

IT'S DARK AND DAMP IN here. The cavern drops down a hundred feet or more. I lose track of how many steps we take on stone stairs slick with moisture.

There's little in the way of light. Every full turn a sickly yellow crystal emits a dull glow. Luc leads us on, heedless of my heart's pounding. Heedless of the storm bells clanging their alarm at the back of my mind.

"It's not far now." Luc's feet patter lightly on the steps. "Stay near."

"No worries about that." Niall's grumble reverberates off the rock. "Can't see my own feet."

There's a shuffling of boots. Ariya mutters a curse. "Those are my feet, you land-trapped oaf. Watch where you are stomping."

"I'd do better if it weren't your arse in the way."

"Stow the quarrels, children." There's enough unsettling about this cavern without their bickering.

We reach the bottom of the steps. The twisting and turning of the descent was disorienting, but I'm fairly certain we're facing south, back toward the edge of town and the rain pond. Years aboard ship will subtly bless one's sense of direction. Before us a cave yawns, wide and bowl-shaped. It could easily accommodate _Sleet_ 's hull, meaning it has to be eighty feet across.

At the center is what I can only describe as an altar made of misshapen, uncarved stone. It is the same white as the stones that make up the compass in the center of the village. The altar is encircled by a ring of carvings a foot wide. They are worn down and faded with the passing of the ages. My eye can make out a few shapes--three interlocking rings? A fish on the waves? Atop this altar is a mound of obsidian, gnarled as an old tree. The yellow glow from a dozen of the crystals drips off its glassy surface.

The obsidian cradles a metal object.

"The Bloodheart." Luc gazes upon it, eyes wide. He touches the obsidian gently, as if it would shatter under his tiny fingertips. But I care not about the rock. My eye is fixed on the object of his intensity.

The Bloodheart is made of a silver metal, with a sheen so pure it could only have been forged among the stars. It is no larger than my fist, yet made of hundreds of intertwining strands that form dazzling patterns. A long slot pierces it from top to bottom.

"What...is it?" Niall's question is awed. This from a man who's never seen the inside of a church or sat in its pew.

"Platinum. Very rare." Ariya's tone is much more subdued. And yet there's a reverence in her stance, care in the way she steps up to Luc's side. "The Aevorn use it only for the chalices of community, the ceremonial drink that binds us. We have only six such relics."

"Rare means valuable." Niall's toothy grin emerges. He takes three long strides forward until the shiny patterns of the Bloodheart, pale sunflower and silvery in the light of the crystals, bathe his face. He sheathes his sword. "You hit the nail on the head this time, Bowen. It's ours for the taking."

"No." Luc frowns at him, an expression of puzzlement. "You can't touch it."

"What are you babbling of, boy?"

"Only the clean may touch the Bloodheart."

Niall's lips curl into a sneer. "So I am filthy, is that it?"

"I have attempted to tell you that many a time, Niall." A smile plays on Ariya's face.

He glowers at her and pushes Luc. "Move aside and let me claim our prize."

"I don't think you should touch it," Luc says.

"And I wonder why it is we brought you along," Niall snaps. He puts a hand on the Bloodheart.

There is a crack like a whip striking air. Something flashes brilliant in the dark cavern, a burst of light not dissimilar to the flash of a pistol firing. Niall yowls in pain. He staggers back from the altar, clutching the wrist of his right hand. The fingers are blackened.

The surface of the Bloodheart sizzles.

Ariya leans in close to Niall. "Let me see the wound."

"It's not a wound." He cradles his hand, and turns away. "I don't need your mothering."

"Give your hand here, infant." She wrenches his wrist and Niall doesn't resist. He grimaces as her fingers probe the extent of the wound. "It is only a surface burn. Nothing serious, Captain."

"Well, thank heaven for that." I can't help it. A chuckle escapes me. "Perhaps this will teach you to heed Luc's warning, Niall."

Niall mutters something under his breath about being hungry, but doesn't make another move toward the altar. Ariya reaches into her belt and produces a small porcelain bottle. The smell that blossoms when she removes the cork is akin to the fields of clover near my farmhouse...our farmhouse. Ariya salves Niall's burns.

My beloved did so for me, once, when I'd stuck my hand into some firebrush. I shake the memory off. "So, Luc. Only the clean may touch this relic. I don't suppose you have someone in mind, do you?"

He bites his lip. I remind myself that despite his poise, his calm, his well-spoken words, this is merely a boy, albeit one who has been orphaned. I wait for an outpouring of grief but none comes. "Father always told me that those who believe have been cleansed. There is blood in the heart, and it has washed the wrongs away."

I meet his eyes. "You can lay a hand upon it, then?"

He hesitates, and nods.

"You don't have to, Luc, but please try." Part of me wants to spare this child from any more pain. But a larger part reminds me of the money owed to creditors, the ones who can take my _Sleet_ and leave me a beggar in worse shape than Luc when I first encountered him.

Luc stares at me. "Will you sell it?"

I glance at Niall. He nods a great exaggerated nod. Ariya jabs him in the ribs with her elbow.

"There's been no decision made yet." There. Not a lie. But perhaps not the truth either. My stomach churns. Hunger, and fear. Both powerful motivators to mislead. I desperately want to be the good man. But we don't always get what we desire.

Ice tickles across my palms. Both of them again. I clench my teeth and will the magic under control. The picture of a leash tightening on a dog's neck comes to mind.

Luc smiles. "I think I can trust you. But we have to be careful."

"Of course." I step back and snap my fingers. "Here, Gridley."

He trots obediently to me, but gives Luc a worried look. We stand with Niall and Ariya, halfway between the entrance and the altar.

Luc steps closer to the altar. He raises both hands. Places them on the Bloodheart.

Niall flinches.

Nothing. No snap of spark, no flare of light, no cry of pain. Luc's fingers close about the Bloodheart and lift.

Metal scrapes on rock. It comes loose.

For a moment I see a red glow at its center, tiny, a mere pinpoint like the eye of a cat glinting at you from the shadows by the side of the road. It is gone in a wink. Perhaps I imagined it.

The buzzing in my head diminishes. The whispers, long gone. I chide myself for my foolishness. Soulmages. Their rumors of power and wealth came crashing down in the view of one lonely boy clutching a platinum relic.

"Amazing. He is unharmed." Ariya gestures. "You see, Niall?"

Niall rolls his eyes.

Ariya walks to Luc, who stands by the altar with the Bloodheart held near. "You have protection about you, child. I can sense it. We of the Aevorn recognize these things in the young."

"You mean the young you abandon for your quests?" Niall snaps.

Ariya whips about. It's a cruel and dangerous comment. "It is not safe in the skies outside the roost. You would know that if you were not a male."

"I'd have your feathers for a belt, missy, if it weren't--"

"Enough!" I step between them. "This is what happens when a body hasn't been well-paid."

"Or well-fed," Niall grumbles.

"Do not trifle with the Aevorn, Niall. Ariya more than earns her keep. And you know full well why the womenfolk leave the nests."

"Yes, fine, weaker males few and far between thanks to nasty fevers, tribal warfare, et cetera and so forth." Niall's shoulders slump. "This place reeks of death, Bowen. It has me--twitchy."

"I'd noticed." I beckon to Ariya. "Apologize to her."

Niall stiffens. But he does what I ask. "I should not have insulted your people."

"And you should be grateful I did not gut you," Ariya says coolly.

Niall chuckles.

I sigh and shake my head. "You're right, however, is not safe. We should go. Luc?"

He steps from the altar, but stops when his right shoe tip hits the engraved circle in the ground. "Wait. Something is wrong."

Ariya frowns. "Do you sense something amiss?"

"I ... I don't know." Luc shivers. "I have to put this back. It's wrong. All wrong."

"We take our leave now, boy, and that includes departing with that relic." Niall shoves by me and grabs Luc's arm. Before I can stop him he's yanked the boy beyond the circle.

Luc gasps.

A tremor shakes the cavern. Dirt showers down on us, a fine mist.

Ariya spreads her wings and blocks rock fragments. "What is this?"

"You should have let me put it back!" Luc steps away from Niall. "We have to leave now!"

The altar moves. It shudders and shakes. The obsidian slowly sinks into the jumble of rocks. That jumble grinds against each other scraping, shrieking. A green glow builds from within. They're moving and rearranging, growing taller.

"Get back to the ship! Go, go!" I shout.

Ariya scoops Luc up under the arms and whisks him to the entrance. They disappear up the stairs. Her feet echo like gunshots on the stone steps.

Gridley barks furiously, paws spread apart and ready to fight. Niall unslings the wheellock musket. I'm uncertain whom or what he plans to shoot. A deep rumble answers my question. It is a cacophony of falling rock, an avalanche, and yet... it sounds angry.

Very angry.

The altar builds itself up until it towers ten feet tall. A bulge forms at the top, and the rocks break into two columns halfway down. A long, bulging assembly of stones break from the left side, and from the right.

My throat goes dry. It is the form of a man. A large, hunchbacked and thick-necked man with huge, burly arms, but a man nonetheless. Knobbly stones for shoulders and knees, long jagged shards for muscles, thick slabs for the chest and abdomen, sharp spikes that close together as a crab's pincers for hands.

Two slits open atop the body. They're black as a starless night on a storm sea. A gaping maw filled with fangs yawns at us. Its roar of outrage shakes the cavern so much that my bones vibrate in unison.

Niall swears, and aims his musket. "It's a wonderful outing you've brought us on, Bowen!"

"My thoughts precisely!" I raise my pistol.

We fire simultaneously. Smoke and flash obscure our vision.

When it all clears, the golem is still there, unmoved and unmolested. There's not a mark to show any who might care where our blasts went.

It stomps toward us.

# THE SIXTH CHAPTER

~

NIALL AND I RACE SIDE by side up the steps, taking two at a time. Gridley's tail flashes ahead. The roars of the golem reverberate off the rock. The sound envelopes us. My heart refuses all entreaties for it to slow.

Light above. Almost there.

We burst out into the open, into the desolate center of town. I am frantic for a glimpse of Ariya and Luc. Gridley barks past us, hunched down and ready for the fight, tense and teeth bared.

Niall slaps my shoulder. "There!"

Ariya flies toward the docks, thirty feet above the village. Luc wriggles in her grasp.

"She can make it back in plenty of time to ready _Sleet_ to cast off." Niall rams home the powder and shot for the musket. "What say we hold this rock pile here until she can do so?"

I reload my pistol, praying for the time necessary to do so before the monster emerges. It bellows again, setting my bones a-rattling. "I say that's a fine suggestion, and I hereby make it an order."

Niall grins that savage grin of his. He levels his musket and sights on the hole in the ground from which we emerged. "Come one you great heap of rubble! Show your mug here so I can put one twixt your eyes!"

The ground explodes before us. Dirt and rubble shatter into the air. The immaculate circle of stone is rent asunder. Chunks of the stone stairs shower down as we leap for shelter.

The golem stands before us.

It takes a mighty swipe at Niall. He rolls aside quick as a wink. The rock arm whooshes by with gale force and slams into the ground. The fist buries itself in dirt.

"Ha! Is that your best, foul beast?" Niall plants a boot on its arm and aims the musket with one arm, an expression of extreme smugness on his face. He fires at such a range it's impossible miss.

He doesn't. The shot chips the rock between the golem's eyes. But those dark pits glare back, unfazed and terribly vexed.

"Son of a troll's hound," Niall mutters.

The golem yanks its arm free, tossing Niall off his step with the ease of a man removing a gnat from his skin. He tucks and rolls, coming up in a crouch near the blackened ruins of an apothecary's shop.

The golem pivots to me. I fire my pistol. This shot, too, is a clear hit, but does not more damage to the back of the golem's head than shooting at the broad side of a mountain. Confound it.

My falchion whispers free of its scabbard. The golem roars and swings at me, but misses. He's a huge beast but not terribly fast. "Niall! Niall, we may have to reexamine our plans!"

"I bow to your wisdom, Bowen!" He hacks at the golem's side with his blade. Chips of stone explode but his blade might as well be one of wood rather than of steel. He ducks a blow by the creature.

Gridley runs in circles around the beast, barking, growling, and trying to nip at the golem's heels. He doesn't understand the danger--too loyal for his own good when it comes to fell creatures as these.

I put two fingers to my lips and whistle sharp enough it makes Niall grimace. "Gridley, boy! Get gone!"

He bolts for the path out of town. He'll go right to the ship, at that signal. It's a rarity I use it. Usually I have a plan of how to utilize him in a brawl.

The golem stomps toward us.

Not so much on the plan, just now.

Niall staggers backwards. He bleeds from a cut on his face. The golem storms after us and swings. They're all near misses but the monstrosity throws up enough shrapnel from its blows that it's a hailstorm of rocks with razor edges. A handful slice my forearms. I feint the golem, trying to draw its attention from Niall. It works well enough for the golem to throw another punch. This one comes near enough to shake the ground beneath my feet and send me to my knees.

Niall leaps in, his katana flashing. His angry cries and prodding swipes are enough to again distract the golem. Niall leaps nimbly aside as it takes three swings with stony arms.

"As much fun as this is," he says, panting, "I daren't say we can keep it up all morn."

"Agreed."

"What's your game?"

"To drive the thing off the edge!"

Niall casts a weary glance over his shoulder. "Aye, but it's a long slog back at this rate."

"Come on!" I break into a run.

We beat feet down the path. I look behind us, expecting the golem to pound the ground at its normal plodding pace.

It doesn't. It raises its head to the sky and lets out a thunderous bellow that shakes the huts hard enough for beams to fall from ruined walls and the windows remaining to shatter in their frames. Then it slams both fists into the ground with a speed I'd heretofore considered it incapable of achieving.

My grievous error.

A jagged tear opens in the ground and snakes its way to us faster than I've ever see Ariya fly or Gridley run. I shout an alarm to Niall. We make to evade but its splits us apart, tosses us aside like the leaves of autumn. Niall tumbles down the lip of a small hillock and slams back first into a low stone wall. His sword skids across the grass.

I go rolling into the rain pond.

Water is a cold shock. Everything is muted and blurred and dark. I flail about for purchase on the land. Fingers lock into the muck. I pull.

My head breaks the surface. Sound comes back as clear as a bell. I gasp, cough and sputter water. Must wipe it away and clear my vision. Massive footsteps shake the ground.

I rub my eyes and look up.

The golem strikes me.

Move!

It's a lightning reaction, but nearly too slow. His fist catches my cloak and bashes against my right side. Deadening pain rattles my body. The blow lifts me off my feet and for a moment I am flying, my cloak yanking me into the air, and all I can think in that stunningly quiet moment is, This is what it must be like for Ariya all the time. What a glorious feeling.

That reverie breaks when I slam back into the water. It provides as much cushion as the wooden deck of a cloudship. Dunked under, rolled about, churning and swirling in the water and muck. Someone shouts--Niall.

Up. Up!

Something grabs the back of my cloak and pulls. Soon I slide out of the water like a swan--very well, perhaps an injured, drowning, muck-slathered swan. A rough red tongue licks my face.

Gridley has saved me. Yet again. I wearily pat his cheek. "You cannot keep score of these, old boy, or we'll never be even."

He yips and slurps at my face again.

Niall snarls. He's made the shift into his vulpex form. Before the golem can react he's launched himself onto its back. I haven't the faintest clue what Niall hopes to achieve with fangs against rock, but when eight feet of were-fox fur and muscle collide with ten feet of golem stone, it is a titanic struggle for dominance.

Alas, the struggle ends with Niall's defeat when the golem twists long arms in an unnatural stretch and flings Niall far down the path along the pond. The golem stands up to its knees in the pond, water streaming down rivulets through the cracks and crevasses of rocky muscles.

A whistle from on high pierces the golem's frustrated roars.

Ariya hovers nearby, crossbow at the ready. But that's not what she aims to use as a weapon. No doubt she's seen the pitiful damage Niall's musket as inflicted on the golem. I'm rather more drawn to the black orb in her left hand, the one that's smoking from a sputtering fuse.

A bomb.

I'd forgotten we'd traded the orc triplets on Adamton for those. Never quite saw the need unless we happened to get the drop on corsairs or other raiding scum. Leave it to Ariya to have the foresight.

She whistles again. The golem looks up at Ariya.

She smiles down and drops it.

The golem is not a dumb brute, it seems. It knows enough to know Smoke plus Flame equals Bad. It staggers away.

The bomb explodes in midair, chest high to the golem. The concussion bowls Gridley and me over, sending waves scalloping across the pond.

It leaves a gaping wound on the golem's chest, deep enough I can see the sun glint of the obsidian core. The same obsidian on which the Bloodheart rested until Luc plucked it from its nest.

The golem screams. And I do mean a _scream_. It is a high-pitched, feral, enraged noise that makes Gridley howl and the rest of us shudder.

"Captain! Beware!" Ariya's words are muffled but her concern is not.

The golem slogs deeper into the water, toward the shore to which Gridley pulled me. It seems the creature has ascertained my leadership role in this band of adventurers. How fortunate for me.

My ears ring and I am sopping wet. I try to get to my feet but the pain in my side strikes me down. I collapse into the water.

Suddenly my hands are unbearably cold.

A laugh burbles up into my chest, and even that hurts. Of all the times for the magic to want to break loose of my grasp! I cannot wrestle it now!

The next thought is as clear as the sky above and below: I don't have to wrestle it. Not here. Yet I hate the thought of using it. I don't want this force again. I cannot trust it to fulfill what I desire.

It did my beloved Cassia no good.

The golem is near. I hear its joints of rock grinding against each other, and its legs sloshing through the water.

Water. All around us, and all over the beast.

Niall sprints the pond's edge, snarling challenges for battle at the golem.

The golem will have none of it.

Ariya swoops down and looses an arrow from her crossbow. It clatters off the golem and it pays her harassment no mind. After all, she doesn't have another bomb.

The creature comes for me.

I stand up, my side aching, my chest heaving. My throat is raw and my voice a rasp. "You won't have me, beast. You hear me?"

It smiles, a hideous twist of stone into gaping maw.

There is no room to equivocate. Despising my inability to suppress the ice, I raise my hands. They are so frigid now they are covered with a sheen of frost. It creeps down my arms to the elbows. There's nary any feeling remaining in the fingers or the palms of my hands.

So cold.

Niall skids to a halt. His mouth hangs wide open, revealing white fangs and a lolling tongue.

He sees the glow, he blue light that starts at the center of my chest and suffuses my body, growing outward in waves, just like the ripples from the bomb's explosion.

I can feel the magic pulsing. It builds within me, a throbbing in every nerve and muscle. My mind is all that keeps it leashed.

So cold. Unbearable. But I must.

The golem stops six feet from me. It glowers and roars in my face.

I yell back, my lungs on fire, my entire body glowing like the sun but blue as the sky. No thoughts, no last words, except for one, whispered after my war cry dies out...

_Glacii_.

It has not passed my lips for many years. The effect is immediate. Ice crackles from my hands and fingers. It whips out in jagged streams, just as lightning leaps between the clouds. They strike and play over the golem's body. It shrieks.

I ignore it, concentrating my mark: the water dripping down its muscles, soaking between the cracks.

For as every child knows, when water is cold enough, it becomes ice. When it becomes ice, it increases its size.

That is what the water in the golem's body does. It crackles and expands, forcing its way out of every crevasse, building pressure.

Push. More!

The golem roars but I shut out the sound. A last surge of ice ripples from my hands. It envelopes the beast, then dies as the light fades from my body.

It's enough.

The golem shatters into thousands of shards of ice and stone, blasting out of the water. The wave cuts into me, shredding my shirt and my skin with tiny blades.

I fall. But Ariya catches me.

Silence. We did it. We won. My eyes close.

Ariya gasps. When I open my eyes, there are tears brimming in hers. "Captain! You're... you're so cold."

What a silly thing to say. I drift off to sleep.

I care not if I ever awake.

# THE SEVENTH CHAPTER

~

"Bowen? Bowen?"

The voice is soft, insistent. It speaks to me with care. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, the image of my beloved appears. Her hand caresses my cheek, and it is warm against the biting cold. Cassia?

"Bowen! Wake your arse." The voice is rough, demanding. The hand slaps me.

No, not Cassia.

My eyes require such effort to open I might as well have shoved aside an oak barricade half a foot thick. The face before me is blurred. Blurred, and crowned with red.

Of course. Niall.

I blink, bleary-eyed, until the image clears. It splits into two of him, side by side, and, makes my head spin. Finally, Niall coalesces into himself.

He grins. "It's about bloody time. You had us worried for naught, it seems."

"It...seems." My throat is scratched raw. One would think I hadn't used it in months. Yet I've been lying here for...well, that is a good question. It's only then I realize Niall's face glows not with delight but with the yellow-orange of a candle's halo. Everything else is the deep blue-black of night. "What day is this?"

"The same. It's night. You've been down for hours now. But it wasn't until after sunset that your temperature finally rose. You've been a bloody icicle."

I press a hand to my forehead. It's still cold enough to set my teeth chattering. One would think with the three quilts layered upon me that I'd be sweltering. "Have you been my nursemaid, then?"

Niall chuckles. "Hardly. That pup Luc wouldn't leave your side for the longest time. Nothing I said could persuade him."

"Not even... your polite manners?" I cough. Ack. There's a flagon off to the side of the bunk.

"Steady here." Niall gets me the flagon and helps me take a drink. The water is manna for my parched throat. "No, Gridley finally nudged him topside. Your hound, though, wouldn't leave your side."

There's no porthole down here belowdecks. We're in my cabin, as my still fuzzy brain reckons. Too dark to make out anything but the stack of books in the shelf carved into the bulkhead beside the bunk. I throw aside the quilts. Shivers overtake me. A furred head pushes under my hand, and a wet tongue licks the wrist. Gridley is here, good lad.

"Hold, now, where do you think we're going?" Niall stands back.

"Up to my post. This is my ship, still, is it not?"

"Yes, but... you need your rest."

"Says you, I suppose?"

Niall snarls. "Shark's breath, Bowen. You swore to me you would not dabble in those arts again. Three years to the month since I signed on to this fool's venture, flitting between clouds, only on the oath you wouldn't."

"I did so swear. I also did not anticipate the need to rescue my comrades from a golem's rage."

"Don't argue! The ice nearly killed you last time. And now this..." He shook his head. "You've not been trained."

"I'm well aware of that. Now if you don't mind, I'm off to the wheels."

I promptly stumble and collapse to my knees.

Niall sighs. He loops an arm under my shoulders and helps me to my feet. "Stubborn as an orc," he mutters. "Come on, then. Ariya will stop pestering me with questions, at the very least."

~

If Niall expressed the frustration of a mother hen doting on her chick, Ariya was a loud, irritated rooster.

"Captain! It is about time you have rejoined us." She steadies the ships wheels. "You owe me an explanation."

I close my eyes and breathe in the night air. Clean, and cool. Look about--the stars are everywhere. No moon out, and few clouds slide by us as _Sleet_ rides the winds. Their lights speckle the sky, diamond scattered on black velvet. "What manner of explanation might that be?"

"The one in which you explain why you did not inform us you were an ice-summoner." She stares hard at me, but she never lets go her hands upon the wheels.

"It was no secret from me," Niall grumbles.

"How lovely. He knew, but this daughter of the Aevorn did not. Niall cannot even keep himself sane around a shank of lamb."

"Jealous, my dear?" Niall winks.

"Enough." I rub at the bridge of my nose. The headache now pressing between my eyes is unbearable. "Ariya, he has known me since we were lads. There was no grand conspiracy to hide my ... ability from you."

"Your decision to exclude me put the ship and crew at risk."

"If it makes you feel any better, he broke an oath to me that he wouldn't summon," Niall says.

"It does not." Her tone is frosty and brooks no disagreement. "I cannot forgive it."

"Very well. But can you tell me whence we're bound while you're busy holding this new vendetta against me?"

"We are returning to Bristol-on-Sky. I thought it best and Niall agreed."

I give him an accusing look. He shrugs and pays closer attention his sword scabbard. "You two agreed? Without violence by either party?"

"The captain was incapacitated and I, as first mate, bowed to the wisdom of our lovely sailmistress and rigger." Niall flaps his arms at his sides. "What else would you have us do? Stay docked at Applemont and see if the good golem was blessed with even larger siblings?"

"No, of course not." The mention of the golem bombards me with memories of the confrontation. Ice runs in my veins yet again. But the frost does not return to my hands. Progress, I suppose. "What of Luc and the Bloodheart?"

Niall points to the bow. Luc is curled up by the gunwales. As I approach Gridley lets out a joyful bark. He licks Luc's face and in return Luc kneads his fur.

"Good to see you well, Luc."

He stands up. A weather beaten bag of brown leather hangs from his left side, the strap lashed across his chest. "You're not hurt."

"Only tired." And dizzy, famished and ill.

"The magic you turned on the golem was powerful."

I glance back at Niall and Ariya. He watches me closely, while Ariya pretends I do not exist. Her cold shoulder will warm. It's not the first time I've been on her wrong side. "It was. It's not something I let myself do very often, something I no longer thought myself capable of summoning."

"Why? Are you afraid of it?"

"I...no. One is supposed to be trained in summoning. I never was. So my control is somewhat less than perfected."A partial truth. I can rein in the ice, most times, but I despise it. I would cut it from my flesh if I could.

"You were so cold after the golem was destroyed." Luc touches my skin. "Like you were dead."

I withdraw from his touch. Thoughts of home, which I'd long buried, were exhumed and I did not care to examine the remains. "The Bloodheart. Why did you not tell us of the golem?"

"Father told me the relic was safe, but I thought he meant there was a trap." Luc looks pensive, his brow furrowed. "I never knew we had a golem under the town square. He was very big."

"That he was. May I see the relic?"

Luc reaches into the bag. He holds up the Bloodheart, but does not let go. Instead he whispers, "Be very, very careful."

Indeed.

It is warm to the touch, much warmer than my skin at the present. The warmth intensifies, blooms under my fingertips as I turn the object over in my hands. I've never had the chance to touch platinum, to see it up close. It is a fine, lustrous metal that catches the starlight and turns the whole object a silvery blue.

A sudden blaze of heat courses through my hands, up my arms, into the very core of my being. All the lingering ice is swept from me. I gasp.

Words fill my mind. Words and pictures. Love and sorrow and peace and pain. Feelings so intense I know not whence they come. The words alongside them, under them, they carry the weight of such authority they can only be from a powerful king or an emperor of the Far East.

I feel trapped, and inexplicably damned. Locked in a dungeon--a sensation with which I am unfortunately familiar.

One word pounds against my mind. _Seek_.

It all melts away. I stand there, trembling. Luc has taken the Bloodheart from my grasp. He stares at me, that sorrowful expression on his face. "I knew I shouldn't have let you hold it. It's heavy."

All I can do is nod, and wipe subtly at the tears in my eyes lest Niall sees. "Yes. Yes, it is. Why don't you keep it secure, for now?"

"I will." He tucks it into the bag. "Captain?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want to go back to Bristol-on-Sky. It's dangerous."

"Well, I don't suppose we shall have to worry about those men we faced before. I doubt they will trouble us. The ones who are still among the living, that is."

"No. That's not it. Darkness presses in. The Bloodheart won't be safe there."

I consider this, ready to balk at his suggestion we not return. That gaze of his is so confounded earnest. Gridley rubs up against my leg, and gives me a look of complete confidence. _The lad is on to something. I would follow him were I you._

I look to the northern horizon. There are clouds there. Thick ones. This does not faze me, not as a rule, but in light of Luc's words I cannot help but see the malevolence behind them. Something is not right. It is the same sensation the cavern beneath Applemont's square impressed upon me.

"Please, Captain. Can you take us somewhere else? Somewhere safe?" Luc asks.

I sigh. "Lad, there's precious few places in this sky or on this sea one could call safe. And I need to know more about..."

My words trail off into the breeze. Safe. Know. More.

Of course.

"Ariya!" I stride swiftly to the ship's wheels. "Bring us about to an easterly heading. Take us down to the Orient Stream."

To her everlasting credit, she spins the ahead-wheel to turn us away from our northward course and uses the rise wheel to begin our descent from 9,000 to 6,000 feet before a single question leaves her mouth. "Captain?"

"Have you dropped your ballast, Bowen? If we're to sell the bauble we've got to return to Bristol-on-Sky and make the appropriate contacts," Niall says. "The ones with big bags of gold, preferably."

"I don't think it will be safe for us there." No need to mention Luc's premonition, for the moment. "Besides, we need to know more about this Bloodheart before we complete our transaction."

"What's east then?" Niall seems befuddled. True, most of our journeys take us north and south these days.

"We're off to Jasna Gora. The answers I hunt will be there." I fervently hope so.

"Jasna Gora?" Niall scowls. "Is that among the Silesian Rocks? Some kind of trading post?"

"You fool." Ariya's voice strikes us like a whip, but there is something strangely reverent even with the chastisement. Even though she speaks next to Niall, her stare is fixed on me. "Jasna Gora. The great library."

# THE EIGHT CHAPTER

~

### Strathern

I DON'T LIKE TO FLY. Not as a passenger. I used to, eons ago, when I was but a lad. No longer.

Let me state it plainly. It's a nuisance, and makes me dizzy if I'm not the one at the wheels. Give me a ship on the seas, leaping the crests and diving the troughs, and I'm a happy man. Even if others are too busy vomiting off the gunwales to notice. Flying, well ... I have less control.

I must have control.

Our pilot is expert. He docks us at Bristol-on-Sky with the barest of bumps. The thick clouds don't hamper him. Good thing, too. Our warship is the _HMS Inexorable_ , thrice the size of the largest ship moored here. I take time to admire her form as my company of fusiliers disembarks. The hull is dark oak edged in crimson and black. The red and black checked pennants of Northamber snap in the breeze. The royal crest--an obsidian crown atop crossed silver swords on a crimson shield--is emblazoned on sails of gray fabric that churn in the wind like storm clouds. She is pierced for sixteen cannon and carries the full load, though I put little faith in the hellish contraptions. Nearly got myself blown up by one years back. Hence the lost right arm.

Well, not entirely lost. I rap my knuckles on the replacement. It rings hollow and metallic, like a church bell.

I am a great fan of irony.

"Sir." My lieutenant is a humorless man, with as much personality as a slab of shale. He never smiles. Lines on his face are longer than the rigging of _Inexorable_. "The men are ready."

"Good." As if I couldn't tell that. Twit. "Form up. Two lines. Secure the street when we reach our destination."

"Yes, sir."

We march into town. There's no chance of stealth here. These boys each wear a steel cuirass that rattles and clanks with each step. Their boots stamp against the dirt. The lieutenant's scabbard and pistol jangle against his armor.

My raiment is far simpler--a white tunic and black trousers, black boots, brown leather bracers on my wrists and a vest of the same material, all shrouded in a cloak red as the dawn and edged in black.

I don't need any directions from the old wretch watching the docks, nor do I need a map. There's a dark corner by a tavern that's familiar.

The soldiers herd any passers-by--and by that I mean drunken louts, lazy layabouts all of them--out of the main street. More like main rutted dirt path. Nothing as grand as the paving stones of the Majesty's Avenue in Pons Aelius. I'd much rather be wandering among the gray stone and white turrets than here in this filthy burg.

Into the tavern I go.

There's hardly a warm welcome for a man dressed in wealthy garb such as mine. Ah well. I smile broadly for the dozens of pairs of bleary eyes that turn my way. "Greetings, servants of the king. I seek the brothers Lundstrom. My information suggests they frequent this fine establishment. Will anyone help me find them so I may bid them hello?"

No response. Well, perhaps I exaggerate. Several men chuckle outright and a handful more make rude gestures.

One nearest me, frightfully obese and smelling about as pleasant as mule's stall, spits on my shoes. It dribbles down the black leather. "Pox on you and your king."

This earns him a chorus of hearty cheers. I sigh. Such is the rabble out on the frontier isles. It's terribly difficult to keep discipline.

But I shall try.

I raise my right arm from beneath the cloak. All laughter ceases. My new arm does have that effect on people, presumably because it is made of a silvery metal. The small orb at the shoulder glows a soft yellow.

" _Fulmine icta_ ," I mutter.

Lightning bolts crackle out from the orb, which now glows a brilliant white. They scamper down my arm and leap eagerly from my fingers. Bolts dance across the man's body, and he screams.

Mercifully he doesn't prattle on forever. The screams end in a guttural choke. He slumps to the floor, smoke rising from his flesh. The stench is sickly sweet, and overpowers even the boldest men in the tavern who'd mocked me. Someone retches behind me. Ah, these new recruits can be delicate.

"Let me ask again." My voice booms around the tavern. "The brothers Lundstrom. Where are they?"

The bartender is a reptiloid. Disgusting creature. It hisses something unintelligible and points up a dark staircase at the back corner.

I bow before him and toss a pouch of coins his way. They land with a heavy thud on the bar. "Your lord and king Octavian III thanks you, kind servant."

The lieutenant follows me upstairs. The rest of our men take up stations outside and inside the tavern. None shall happen to slip out while I'm occupied.

Only one of the brothers Lundstrom is upstairs. Haller. Not the most cunning of the bunch, but since he is the largest that makes him the leader by default. He's fast asleep, sprawled across a bed, arms akimbo and half covered by a rough woolen blanket. Drool stains the lumpen pillow under his equally lumpen head. The girl with him doesn't care a whit, I'd imagine.

They didn't even lock the door. Typical frontier scum.

"Haller!" I shout. "Where is the boy?"

I catch a glimpse of his face, expression startled and skin pink, before I upend the entire bed with my metal arm. The wood frame cracks and splinters, dumping Haller onto the floor. "Is your hearing gone? Where is the boy? For I do not see him in this room, so unless you have him packaged for me somewhere..."

The girl screams. She pulls the bedsheet close to her chest and scurries back into a corner. I point my finger at her. Sparks skittered around my hand. "Out, now."

She moves faster than the jackrabbits my father and I used to hunt.

"Strathern!" Haller's out of breath, scrambling upright. He wears leather breeches and grabs a blood-stained gray tunic from under the wreckage. "They... we had him. By Thor, he was right there in front of us! And then this ship captain comes along... They had a vulpex! I tried to fight off the beast but it was too strong. Lars is dead!"

His brother is dead, and he's sharing a bed with some tavern fairy. Why does that not surprise me? I grasp him about the neck with my metal hand and hoist him up. Together we rise. Despite being a head taller than me he dangles there, choking. "This doesn't sound like the answer I want. Who took him?"

"Bowen... Cord. Ship is ... the _Sleet_."

"Where is the magi's boy?"

"Gone ... back ... to ... Applemont."

By sky's fire.

With a growl of fury, I throw him through the wall. Plaster and wood shatter. His yelp is short lived. He crashes into the wall of the building across the street. There's enough blood I know he's dead. Well, that and the fact that his head is caved in to half its normal size is more than an adequate hint.

I whirl on my lieutenant. "Make ready for sail. Take whatever provisions you need."

"Yes, sire."

He leaves immediately. I stand in the opening I've made in the wall. Wind blows across my face. It is times like this I wish I were back home, checking the seams of cloudship sails with my brothers and sisters. The laughter and joy. We were a happy clan.

I leap down through the opening. My arrival jostles the soldiers. Mud sprays all about. When I rise, my glare rakes them.

I'm not looking forward to a long voyage in the air, and they'd best be on their toes lest they want to incur my wrath.

My name is Strathern. I am the Doorward for His Majesty Octavian III, king of all Northamber, seated in the royal palace at Pons Aelius these nine years. My job is to protect the king's property, and by his magnanimous interpretation of the law of the land, this means relics of rare power that he does not yet possess.

The accursed boy Luc may know where to find the most powerful one of all.

# THE NINTH CHAPTER

~

### Bowen

IT'S MORE THAN A WEEK to reach the broad plains that are home to Jasna Gora. It's a startling thing, so sail for days over nothing but deep blue water and scattered islands that dot the waves, both far below and high above, then cross a long, sinuous string of gray sand. Seeing our shadow ripple across endless rolling hills and green fields takes adjusting.

Changes in scenery aside, the voyage passes without incident. When deep in my slumber, though, I hear the roar of the golem mingled with the howls of wind through _Sleet_ 's rigging.

Luc keeps to himself. Not even Gridley can lift him from his doldrums, try as he may. I call him to work about the deck as needed, and he complains not. Niall, thankfully, does not berate the lad. This perhaps has less to do with his volition than Ariya's periodic glowering in his direction.

We emerge from the clouds twenty miles from the great library. Here the sky is so clear I can see Jasna Gora sitting on a vast field of green, a white jewel floating on an emerald sea of farms. Its bell tower, dark and forbidding, reaches to the sky without care for the white and gray domes and slanted orange roofs huddled at its base. It is all encircled by a steep, thick wall of masonry with four sharp points, one at each corner. They look steep enough to deter raiders from scaling their heights and slanted enough to deflect the most vigorous cannonades.

"The way is clear, Captain." Ariya soars alongside, showing no concern that the ground is still a thousand feet below us. "There are a few other ships ahead. None whose sails I recognize yet."

"Keep your eyes on them. I'd like to know if we have friend or foe among them." I bear to port on the alter-wheel. Catch a strong gust coming from the north-northwest. _Sleet_ 's sails go taut as they fill and she lunges ahead. The surge beneath my feet tells me she's riding well today, content with her rigging.

"Straight on, then." Niall reloads his musket. "The pork's been far too salty this time 'round. That's what we get for buying Bristol-on-Sky."

"Whatever is your point?"

"My point is the sooner we land, the sooner I eat of good food."

"Patience, old friend. You'd best stow your musket. The brethren do not allow weapons on their soil. You'll have to be patient, both with them and me." I grin. "We're taking the Pauper's Canyon."

Niall frowns. He crosses to the rail. I know what he sees. The canyon twists below like a snake, winding among the hills until it cuts down through rock as deep as five hundred feet. I know every depth, every turn, and every pine needle on every branch.

I give the rise wheel a steady turn. _Sleet_ dives toward the canyon. My gut lurches, and I couldn't be happier.

Niall yelps and braces himself on a rope. Ariya laughs. She turns twice, still far above the sails, and folds her wings. She plunges like a dagger, white feathers flashing in the sun. I always worry for a spell when she does it, that she won't pull up in time, but she recovers. Her body gracefully spins into a leisurely glide.

I let _Sleet_ settle into her run down the canyon with considerably more room to spare.

Down here in the canyon the wind funnels between steep walls of pale tan stone. Striations of black cover stretch after stretch, cutting up splotches of red, as if a giant artist wanted to show off his grand work in this hidden place. Pines cling to the ledges, crowding each for the sun and water. The river Marose is a thick ribbon of blue so dark it's black except for where the whitewater churning around jagged boulders break the surface.

Niall grouses about my piloting but I pay him no mind. I could navigate this gorge blind if I had to. _Sleet_ soars down the canyon as if invited, riding along the winds with grace. I catch a glimpse of the broad green plain ahead through the mouth.

We burst out of the canyon walls into the rolling hills. Villages dot the landscape, a few homes clustered hither and yon at the bends of the river, plus more hunkered down among the lingering edges of the forest.

Ariya swoops near. "I don't recognize the flags on those ships, other than they mark the owners as being Arabs. Appears they are a convoy."

She's right. There are five ships, all xebecs of the same slender hulls and crescent moon sails. Flowing script that I cannot translate, even with the aid of my spyglass, makes for a lovely decoration in violet on tan sails. All five are moored to docking platforms that stretch out from the top of Jasna Gora's walls.

"Arab traders at a library?" Niall says. "Have they nothing left to barter or sell in their own lands?"

"They likely bring their own knowledge for trade," I say. "The priests are as fervent for knowledge as they are for worship."

"You've brought us to a library run by priests?" Niall groans. "So the likelihood of them having a decent tavern is next to nil."

I laugh. "Be of good cheer, Niall. No taverns, but they enjoy a glass of wine as much as the next man or vulpex."

I find us an empty slip near the docked convoy and bring _Sleet_ in to hover alongside them. Soon a long gangway extends out from the walls, pushed on rollers by burly young acolytes in brown robes. Several cast mooring lines across to us. Niall and Ariya tie us off as I hold _Sleet_ steady.

Luc meets me at the gangway. He seems of better cheer. At least he smiles again. "Are you ready to find some answers, lad?" I ask.

He furrows his brow, though his smile remains. "The answers you want are not ones I can give you." With that he bounds down the gangplank, once more a youth with exuberant energy and not the mysterious boy whose statements perplex me.

Gridley rubs up against my leg. I bend to the knee and give him a good scratch. "Is he all well, boy? You've kept close watch on him."

His tongue wags, and he cocks his head aside as if to say, "I don't rightly know."

I sigh. "Well. Best we keep an eye on him, eh?"

Gridley barks. I thump him heartily on the back and he races down the gangplank in pursuit of Luc. Laughter drifts back to me as Gridley licks at his fingers.

The winds blowing up the sanctuary walls are pleasantly warm. I follow them down, the slap of my saber in its scabbard reassuring against my leg beneath the cloak. Niall trots up to me. "What pray tell did the pup mean by that? About answers, I should say. I heard every word."

"Nary an idea."

"Glad to see you've thought this all through."

"Calm yourself. We're among friends here." My heart warms at the remembrance.

"I've not a single solitary good memory of my encounters with the priests of the Most High. So excuse my surliness."

"Surliness? I assumed that was your normal jovial manner."

Niall guffaws.

A bellow of greetings reaches my ears. A priest holds up a hand in greeting. His robe is white and vestments crimson. Were he not thus clad I'd still recognize him, for he's as thin and tall as a pike. The wind blows a mop of brown hair out of place. His grin is a beacon amidst the dark forest of his beard. At the center of his chest is the emblem of Jasna Gora--an ornate gold cross, shaped as an X, set on three interlocking circles.

"Bowen Cord!" His voice is deep and cheery, with a musical lilt. He could be singing a hymn at the top of his lungs and he'd sound just as exuberant. "By heaven! Have you really come to haunt us with that dour countenance?"

"Only because I know it pains you thus to see me again."

We both dissolve into chuckles by the time we reach the end of the gangplank and enfold each other in a backslapping hug. Niall lingers to the side, hand on the hilt of his katana. I know he's swept the area with an intense gaze I've seen him level a thousand times before. Ariya alights with a whisper of wings behind him, Gridley and Luc.

"My word, it is good to see you." The priest beams over my shoulder. "Gridley! Come hither."

He barks and lunges for the priest. Gridley knows well from whom he can get the best ever scratch.

"Father, let me introduce my crew. My first mate Niall Phelan, and my sailmistress Ariya Stormquill." Even Niall gives a pleasant nod his way. "This is Father Evan Tyrz, whom Gridley knows well enough because here is where I found him as a pup."

"And the young man who gives me such a curious look?" Evan cocks his head to one side.

"Yes. This is Luc. Our passenger." I noticed Luc has the bag containing the Bloodheart. Good that he's remembered my admonition to keep it with him at all times. After what happened at Applemont, I'm hesitant to let anyone else touch it.

Evan kneels and smiles. "Hello son. Welcome to Jasna Gora, a city of knowledge and refuge for all."

Luc shakes his hand. "Are you really a father?"

Evan laughs. "Of mine own brood of four, with a fifth on the horizon, in addition to my children in the Spirit."

"My father is gone," Luc whispers. "But he gave me this."

He opens the bag and shows Evan the Bloodheart. It gleams in the sunlight, dazzling silver-white.

"This..." Evan whispers. "Son. Luc. Where did you get this?"

He touches it.

I cringe, awaiting the same shuddering, gasping reaction I had to the flood of sounds and images. To my everlasting surprise, tears glisten in Evan's eyes. When he lets go, he embraces Luc as if the boy has saved him from drowning. "Such joy. Thank you, Luc, for sharing this. It is a precious gift."

Luc smiles. "Father said so."

I move closer, and let my cloak shroud the Bloodheart. No need for prying eyes to see it any more than it has been seen. "This is what we came to inquire of, Father. If anyone could tell us its origin and its worth, I have faith you are that man."

Evan gives a soft grunt, I assume, at my use of the word "faith," or perhaps he reacts to "worth" instead. "Is that still the rub, Bowen? Faith or gold. It's been nigh on three years since you left our sanctuary, brother. You rejected the former for the latter."

"We'll talk of those things some other time." My teeth grind. Evan can make me laugh the hardest but can also, unfortunately, call up my hottest anger.

"Preferably indoors." Niall growls low at the back of his throat. He's glaring at the acolytes who mill about tending to the mooring lines.

"Of course. Of course. Come." Evan smiles and beckons with both hands. "Let us adjourn to the sanctum."

"Or better still, the kitchen." Niall's stomach grumbles.

"Yes, a fine idea." Evan gestures to a pair of tall, slim acolytes with blond and black hair. "Brethren, please guide our guests to the kitchen and see they are well fed."

He glances back at me. "Whilst you and I discuss matters of a more urgent sort."

# THE TENTH CHAPTER

~

"Bloodheart. Bloodheart." Evan taps his left forefinger against his lips. "Hmm..."

His words echo in the vast chamber around us, bouncing off a vaulted ceiling high above and seeming to issue from the murals of angelic beings of divine light. They writhe about the clouds and sky, faded after the long centuries and shrouded in dust, but no less intense creations. At their center is a man--a lone man, wearing a crown. Rays of light issue forth from his body, rending asunder the shadows at the edges of the painting.

His eyes are as hot coals, piercing and bright. I cannot meet them. I was never able to.

Instead I look down at the surface of the broad wooden table. Just myself staring back from its polished surface. I reach for the goblet of wine and sample its contents. As sweet as I remember.

Evan stands on a step ladder six feet up. There are books everywhere. Shelves stretch for hundreds of feet along either wall of the sanctum. At the tops of the shelves windows of elaborate stained glass let in the fading light of day in soft reds, blues, greens, and yellows. The hall far to the end is dark save for a few flickering candles.

The bookshelves are twelve feet tall. I do not recognize most of the titles nearest me, in good part because they are written in tongues I never took the time to learn. Those are the ones written in Latin, and Greek and Arabic. I spot a few in English, and even fewer Germanic, Slav and Gaelic. Those titles I can render. But there are countless others, the words on their spines faded and sheathed in dust.

"You're certain they were soulmages?" Evan's voice breaks through my reverie. He stares down at me, brown eyes probing my defenses. "The boy's people. Soulmages?"

"Ah, yes. As certain as I can be. That was the information provided." At considerable cost of coin. "Luc said so and I take him at my word. That and there was ... evidence we uncovered."

"Of what sort?"

"The altar upon which the Bloodheart rested became a golem when we took it."

Evan whistles. He rubs at his beard. "Yes. Well. That is definitely beyond the ken of mere element summoning."

My hand prickles. I rub it on the underside of the table, out of Evan's view. "I'd not call it mere. Ice was the only way we--I stopped it."

"Oh? So you've accepted the Lord's help." He's searching the spines, fingers dancing along the volumes nearest him on the shelves.

"I grudgingly made use of the ice. There was no help involved."

Evan frowns. "Magic is not to be toyed with, Bowen. It is a gift from the Most High, regardless of how it was twisted and ruined when all fell into Shadow. But a man of faith can redeem such magic, wield it in service of the Bringer of Light."

"You'd best keep looking for clues and save the homily for the pulpit, Father." I slosh wine about the inside of the goblet. It looks like blood, and leaves a burn in the belly. I wonder if Niall is discovering its delicacy at this moment. Or if he's leaving us--everyone at Jasna Gora--any food in the pantry. "I did no such service to anyone. Summoning is a curse, a blight on a man's soul and body."

"That is not true."

"Isn't it? What good did the ice do me when all I wanted was for Cassia to recover? Do you know the tales--of ice placing a person into a deep sleep until she could be cured of her ailment, staving off death?"

Evan nods.

"Rubbish," I snap. "I tried. I _begged_. The ice would not heed. It made her too cold--so much so I had to relinquish the summoning and let the fever come back. I had to let her die."

Evan doesn't flinch from my anger. "I cannot bear to think of how my heart would pain if my wife and family were lost to me, Bowen, but it does not mean that magic is a curse."

I take a bigger slug of wine. "These are well-flown skies for us, Father. Let us steer around them this time."

"Understood. I don't suppose you'll reconsider training."

"No. I will not."

Evan sighs. "Well, even the Son had his thick-headed followers, and they came to believe."

"I beg pardon. Did you just call me thick-headed?"

"Insinuated. Ah. Aha!" Evan grunts and slides a huge tome from its space on the shelf, at the edge of his reach. Dust billows out, settling on me in a cloud. Evan grapples with the book, which is as broad as my chest and thicker than my fist. The cover is tattered, with gaping brown patches where the gild has worn away. Flakes of yellowed paper fall like snow.

"Here." I join him on the ladder and grab one of the edges. We set the tome down on the table. It makes a whump against the wood.

"Yes. Well. This should prove most useful. The Philadelphian Codex. I might have known. What have you to enlighten us, o brethren from millennia lost?" He pages gently through, murmuring as to a sleeping infant. I've seen this determination on his face countless times before. He will find the answer, no matter how long he must plumb the ancient writings for their secrets.

"What do you think it is, Father? The Bloodheart, I mean." I scrape the goblet's edge along the table. It's empty.

"I don't know. There are countless legends, of course, of relics empowered by the soulmages through the strength of the Most High. There are tales of others so steeped in darkness the beholder can kill dozens with a thought. I'd not approach either without a legion of the faithful at my beck and call." Evan's eyes scan from paragraph to paragraph as bees hunt pollen from flower to flower.

I gaze up at the stained glass windows. Sunset is upon us. It was always Cassia's favorite hour of the day, and I sat in this room many times at dusk to remember her. Even as the fever drew her life out from her, Cassia wanted me to carry her to the door of our home, every dusk, to see the sunlight fade. She said it reminded her that all things in this mortal realm end, but that beyond the dark of night is the dawn of a new day. A world without end, she called it.

She said she prayed for that new day. For my sake, as well as hers.

I throw my goblet across the room. It bangs off the bookshelves, and clatters across the terra cotta tiles on the floor.

Evan glances up. "Cassia's memory still haunts you, son."

No pat on the back, no soothing platitudes. Just the old, blunt Evan I'd come to love more than kin. "Yes, always."

"Well. Take solace that she is home with the Triune One. I know you think it an empty tale, Bowen, but it be as true and real as this." He pinches the skin on his knuckles.

"A fine lesson." Icy prickles return. I shake them off.

"You're in constant need of reminder, I ..." His voice trails off. His finger pounces on the text. "My word. Aha! This excerpt tells of the Bloodheart that safeguarded an entire isle from attack. The enemy's attacks were for naught."

The vision of the charred dead of Applemont sickens me.

"But it was not the Bloodheart alone. It says here the people had combined the Bloodheart with the Father's Tear. And to it was added the Spirit's Flame. Together the three became one. And pure light held darkness at bay."

The words chill me, not the least because of the way Evan's voice rings strong in the vaulted room. He sits opposite me and rubs his beard. "Bowen, a word of caution: Do not sell this relic of yours."

"Sorry, who said it was for sale?"

Evan chuckles. "I'm not as dull as I look. Many seasons have passed between us without so much as a word spoken or written, but I know you burn with the need for treasure, for adventure, as surely as you did when you lit out from here those years ago."

He places a hand reverentially on the book. "But this Bloodheart is no mere trinket. This is the power of the Most High at work. If it were not the soulmages would not have hidden its parts."

I drum my fingers on the table. Niall will object to any loss of profit; Ariya, less so. She sees the value of more than money. What about my value? And what of Luc? "I don't know what to do with the boy, either, Father."

"If he lived among soulmages, it is likely he was one, or at least hailed from their bloodline."

"It would explain much. His ways... confound me." A memory leaps to the front of my thoughts. "He was the only one who could reach the Bloodheart. It burned Niall. None of the rest of us tried. I thought nothing of it at the time..."

"It is sealed against the unworthy," Evan murmurs.

I shall not mention that to Niall. "But if they were soulmages, why could a band of corsairs so easily kill them?"

Evan ponders this. "What was the name of the island?"

"Applemont."

At that he makes a swift sign of the cross, using the first two fingers of his right hand pinched against his thumb. His eyes are wide. "So. The banished ones."

"Who?"

"Soulmages who defied the decree to not use magic for the wrong purposes."

"Such as, say, animating rock into a golem?"

"Most assuredly." Evan folds his arms. "So they were the ones who watched over the Bloodheart."

"It seems odd your Church would entrust a banished community with such a powerful relic."

"Misdirection, I suppose." Evan sighs. "They would have retained some skill, not been stripped of all their ability to touch magic. But they also may have chosen to not resist. To turn the other cheek."

My heart clenches. So that women and children could die? And how did Luc escape?

"Something still bothers you, Bowen."

"Every cursed thing bothers me. What would you do, knowing all this?"

"You would have me abscond with the last of my common sense and join you on a grand adventure? Oh, but were I young and without the ties of kin." He smiles wanly. "Truthfully, I would bury this Bloodheart in our deepest vaults, and task the most powerful soulmages to stand guard day and night. But that's not what should be done."

"You would have me reunite the parts."

Evan nods. "Can't you feel the darkness encroaching on these lands? Corsairs become bolder. Black warships sail from Northamber into the reaches of other kingdoms. Fell beasts press in our lands. Ah, but perhaps you're insulated from those things up in the clouds. Down here we protect the people of this valley to our best, and keep the knowledge contained in these walls safe. Our scribes see to that in other ways, besides the obvious."

I stand from the table. "There's no need to pile on guilt for ballast."

"I simply tell you the truth. That's all I've ever done. Surely you have heard in your travels that summoners are becoming more active."

I enfold my hands in my cloak. They're quite cold. "I've not paid heed."

"Oh? Then perhaps you haven't seen the missives come from Pons Aelius as far south as here, even further, gathering summoners to the royal court of Northamber." Evan scowls. "There is danger in these times, Bowen. I fear the king of Northamber does not require summoners for parlor trickery. He wants men like you as weapons in his armory."

That stops me in my tracks. I glare at him. "What does that mean?"

"I mean, many who summon can find their souls scalded if they give in to the powers that dwell in shadow. And when they have been sufficiently scalded..." He shrugs. "No telling whom they will accept as master."

Evan rests his hands on the cover of the book. "Luc's coming to you was not mere chance."

"Where do you suggest I look for these parts to the relics? I haven't the barest clue."

"I will dig some more." He slaps me on the shoulder. "Come. Let's join your friends to sup. And see if Niall has left us meat."

We walk through the quiet halls, surrounded by innumerable tomes. Acolytes light torches mounted on the pillars, casting leaping orange lights. The smell of musty paper is everywhere.

Somewhere between our footfalls I think, I cannot stay here. Too much raw and burdensome memory lingers, much the same as when I fled here for refuge from the specter of Cassia's death, and the same as when I ran from this sanctuary to escape the pressure of faith.

Where did I go when I could no longer stand the hymns? I remember white sand and blue seas. Cool shade and hot sun. Music, laughter, and friendship.

A smile curls my lips. Yes. Perhaps there I can gather my thoughts. And find a bit of work to supply coin.

Perhaps even find a buyer for this blasted Bloodheart.

# THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER

~

### Strathern

I love the smell of apples. Not the taste, mind. Mealy. Sweet. Disgusting.

This leaves me with mixed feelings I see not a single fruit among all the trees on this insect of an island. The corsairs were thorough. Not a body left alive on the rock. Good. I prize efficiency.

My men swarm over Applemont as maggots on a carcass, and believe you me, I've seen plenty of those. A few of the young soldiers bend at the knees and heave their last meals into the shrubs. I don't harass them. Used to do the same thing myself. They'll become accustomed to the stench of death soon enough.

"We found the chamber, sir." My lieutenant stands there, stiff as a board. Sky's fire, he needs a pint more than any man alive. "It is empty."

I nod. No surprise, really. _Sleet_ has a three day's lead on us, and _Inexorable_ , while well-armed, is not the fastest ship in the skies. Too many factors unknown. Wind speed, weather, and the like. By all accounts at Bristol-on-Sky _Sleet_ is a fast ship, so I cast all thoughts of matching her speed from my mind.

"Continue your search. Bring whatever evidence you have to me."

"Yes sire. Only..."

I hate hesitation. "On with it, man."

"There is something you should see."

He leads me to the center of the village. Oh, yes, the corsairs did well. Not a place left untouched by their wrath. I'll recommend this entire place be razed and rebuilt, as a resort for His Majesty. It has quite a soothing feel. Once the rabble is swept up, that is. I kick aside a dead woman's arm.

Something tightens its grasp on me--the soulmages' magic. My stomach lurches. How can you not feel it? The sheer otherness. Echoes of power bombard me. Something strong dwelt here. Something good and pure.

Makes me ill.

The lieutenant gestures at the wreckage that was, I assume, a pitiful excuse for a plaza. Stones have been torn asunder. A jagged hole gapes at us like a mouth full of broken teeth. There are stairs, shattered and barely traversable, that my soldiers pick their way up. There are footprints, too.

Big ones. Craters in smashed stone as big around as a serving bowl. I kneel and stretch my palm across. Only half the width. "What happened here?"

"I don't know, sire." The lieutenant opens his hand. Two musket balls rattle against each other, one small enough to fit a pistol and the other large enough for a musket's muzzle. He lets them drop into my palm with a sharp clink. "Someone had a firefight. There are a few more shots. They look the same."

The same? I roll them in my hand. Ah. Fascinating. Both balls have a tiny flecks of stone on them. What kind of twit would waste ammunition shooting at stone? And why?

The lingering magic tugs at me. I've learned by now to follow its lead when it chooses to serve as a guide. It pulls me back from the center of town, down the path we walked. To a pond. I had walked right by without looking.

My reflection stares back at me from the surface. In a flash of lightning my siblings and I splash into the water, squealing at the cold that helps us escape the burn of the summer sun. Peals of laughter scatter fowl and fish from the reeds.

The memory fades. There is only my face staring back. Do I really look so bleak? So cold? No wonder the men obey my voice as if it's a whip. Good.

The lieutenant clears his throat. "Bomb fragments, sir. One of the men found these shards by the edge of the pond."

He adds them to the musket balls in my hand. I roll them about, metal against metal, and think.

Musket fire. A bomb. Stone.

The magic whispers--or at least, that's how I sense it. Summoners of all stripes will assure you that magic is not alive. Soulmages will lie through their teeth and tell you it's a gift of their Lord on High, and the variety that others--such as yours truly--use is twisted by demons.

A sneer curls my lip. Fat lot of good their holiness did them.

I look down. I'm standing astride one of the massive footprints. Whatever was in the town square also stood by the pond's rim. Judging by the distortion of the print, the elongated shape, it ran. I nudge at it with my boot. It was right here.

Magic grips me.

The golem is _still here_.

I stretch my hands and mutter the incantation I will not repeat. Its misuse will kill you. Make no mistake.

The lieutenant takes a few steps back. Prudent fellow.

Water churns. It froths white like the sea in a gale. But the wind is calm, the skies clear. No earthly foul weather to blame.

The pond tears in half, as easily as shredding the shoddy work of a Ringgold weaver, forming a bowl at its center that reveals the muddy bottom. My arms quiver. Sweat dribbles down my brow. The lighting, old familiar friend, dances down my arm and leaps between my hands.

Bring them to me.

Bits of rock shoot into the air, plucked from the mud. They swirl in a cloud ten feet up, gaining in number and increasing in speed. They join into a swarm until there are no more to be found. The remnants of the magic that bound them, gave them life, now serves to reform them.

A beast coalesces in the air.

Men cry out. My men. What cowards. They brandish swords and guns. Idiots. I cannot wholly resurrect the beast. I can only give it a shadow life. Capture the echo.

A golem.

I can feel its mind calling to me. Simple. Brutish. Honest. Its purpose is clear. It protected the thing that was hidden here.

Where is the relic?

The golem moans. THEY. TOOK. MAN. FOX. ANGEL. DOG. BOY.

So. Bowen Cord and crew were here, plus the child. I scowl. He's retrieved the Bloodheart. He and that accursed boy. But in the midst of my anger surfaces a question. How did they slay the golem? One does not simply cross blades with a walking rock. Evidence of their muskets' failure clinks in my hand.

Bombs?

ICE, the golem hisses.

How?

MAN. COLD. HANDS. DESTROYED!

The golem bellows. Its rage shudders through me, inducing waves of nausea. All I can do is stand firm and take it, clenching my will as one tightens a fist.

Ice. From the man. Cord? The realization is both shocking and enticing. One more for our fold, perhaps...

DESTROYED. The golem sounds mournful now. Its anger is played out. FAILED.

So close to the answers I seek. _Where did they go? What did you see? What did you hear?_

The golem writhes. Pain lances up my arms. I cannot hold this trance for long. Darkness creeps into the edge of my vision. Muffled sounds leak through the whirl of wind. The mass of spinning stones loses form, becoming more a cloud that solid shape.

Anger fuels determination, gives me strength. _Answer me!_

SHIP. FAST. GO. NORTH. SAID. BRIS. TOL. ON. SKY.

I release him. The stones blast apart and spray out into the air, over the edge. They rain down upon the sea. The golem's screams echo in my head. All I can hear is his outrage.

Finally, I'm aware of a hand on my arm. A face. The lieutenant. Worried? How heartwarming. His mouth moves but only the golem's cry comes out.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hard, to feel pain. Focus on pain.

Sounds leak back, as if I'm coming up for air after a dive. "... You collapsed and the men are afraid. Are you ill?"

"Let go of me!" I snap.

I'm on my knees, hands in the dirt. My fingers have dug furrows that would do a farmer proud. The black soil jammed beneath my nails are unimpeachable evidence. When did this happen? I pull myself upright, and draw my cloak closer as I stand. Don't shake. Don't let them see the weakness. The lieutenant's right. The men are afraid.

Afraid of me, or the golem? I glower at them to reinforce the former.

"What happened? What did it say? We only heard it growl at you."

"Take the good with the bad, Lieutenant: It told me that _Sleet_ went back to Bristol-on-Sky. You see the dilemma already."

To his credit, he does not argue as some of these dolts would. "We would have seen _Sleet_ had she gone back. The weather was clear and the horizon far the whole journey."

"Exactly. Which leads me to believe she either took an incredibly circuitous route back--unlikely--or she went elsewhere after leaving here initially." I pace. And pace. Electricity snaps in my fingers. I want to incinerate something, badly. With a growl I let the lightning fly in a burst that chars a patch of grass as big as a man's head.

Bowen Cord's head.

"We make sail for Bristol-on-Sky. Waste no time there. Hunt down anyone who knows Cord and find out where he would make for sanctuary. He must know dozens of ports with dozens of people who would shelter him, either out of friendship or for silver."

"Yes, sire." The lieutenant marches off to enforce my orders.

"Warn the men," I say. "This is no mere tradesman we follow."

He's confused and stops. "Sire?"

Sigh. A spark of intellect, then that moronic vacant stare. I gaze off to the horizon, and rub my metal arm. A jolt courses through my body. The power is invigorating. Wipes away the fear and doubt of moments ago, and banishes the golem from my thoughts. "It seems our Bowen Cord is an ice-summoner."

# THE TWELFTH CHAPTER

~

### Bowen

Rest eluded me last night.

True, I filled my belly with the mutton and greens for supper in Jasna Gora's dining hall, and washed it all down with a second goblet of wine. That should have been enough to ensure sound slumber. The bed was passably comfortable, far better than my bunk aboard _Sleet_. The fire stayed warm even when it died to embers.

All those things did nothing to banish the gnashing shadows that invaded my dreams.

Shapeless, nameless creatures. They had blood on their claws. Gridley's blood. Niall's. Ariya's. Luc's. They held the Bloodheart.

My weapons could not hurt them. All I had was the ice.

But it turned on me, blasted me into a frozen statue. The shadows converged, their sounds hideous as a predator tearing flesh and crunching bone.

They smashed me to pieces.

Even now, standing upon _Sleet_ 's wheel deck as we cast off from Jasna Gora, I cannot shake the horror. My wave to Evan and his acolytes is friendly enough. There's worry etched on his face, though. His words from this morning ring in my ears: "Journey south if you must, but you won't find the Father's Tear there. It is known among the spires of the Atlan Reach. Find your way to Cloud Reef. That is all I can say to help. Godspeed, Bowen."

We've supplied _Sleet_ well, and made sure the cracks in the aethershard are not too deep. She banks gracefully out over the plains, where the last of the morning mist burns off in the sun's rays.

"Captain?"

Ariya stands before me, on the other side of the wheel. She frowns, and crosses her arms. Her boot tip taps a steady rhythm on the deck.

"What is it?"

"I asked you, what is our course? You would not tell me or Niall. Frankly I find it all disturbing. My responsibilities include preparing the ship's rigging for whatever climes we may visit, and if I do not know where we are going I cannot fulfill those duties."

"A thousand apologies." I smile. "We're going to Zadar."

"Did you say Zadar?" Niall bounds up the deck. He's positively beaming. This may have more to do with the salted pork he's gnawing off a bone than my news. "Well! Doesn't that just make the day."

"It will be pleasant to visit Zadar again," Ariya says.

"Pleasant? Try invigorating!" Niall downs the rest of the pork and belches with such vigor Gridley barks. He presses his hands to his chest and sighs. "How you wound me, my lady, with your lack of vision. Warm sand, warm water, warm women..."

Ariya elbows him. Niall guffaws and scoots away. I swear the man is ready for cartwheels across the deck.

"So it is to be Zadar for dissolute times, is it?" Ariya frowns.

"It's not all bad. Niall will be in a decent mood for weeks afterward." I steer us onto a southerly course, tacking with the winds out of the north-northwest.

"Hmm. So it is. And no doubt you'll be attending to some commerce there, as well." Ariya flies up to the rigging.

I stare after her, and shake my head. She has a way with discerning my thoughts, that one. Knows that Zadar has the best contacts for selling rare items of value.

And...other benefits. Such as Vesna.

Yet I cannot bring myself to rid Evan's words from my mind. Unite the relics. Bring the light against darkness.

_Sleet_ rocks. My body compensates and rolls with the turbulence. Gridley barks. Mad hound that he is, I believe he enjoys rough air.

Must banish those annoying thoughts of do-gooding from my mind and enjoy this trip.

~

We're a day out from Jasna Gora and the weather is turning dark as a crow's wings to the southeast. Thunder cracks. I scowl. There's no storm clouds nearby. Only the long wall of gray sky. That sound is too near, and too abbreviated. No lightning, either.

"Ship ahoy!" Niall has the spyglass. He points to starboard.

I see it now. A sleek hull drops down from behind a pack of puffy white clouds. It carries no markings, and has muddy brown sails. A single red flag flutters from the mast. "Can you make the symbol on their banner?"

Niall squints. "White skull and white blade in its mouth."

Corsairs.

They're moving too fast. No chance for us to evade, not at this distance and not with us working astride the wind. Thunder cracks again, and this time I see the puff of smoke from our pursuer. The sound is clearer now. Carronade.

The ball whistles across our bow. It's a fine feat of marksmanship for this range.

"I'll wager you're wishing you'd listened to your wise and dashing first mate when he'd told you to spend some gold for a cannon or two on _Sleet_." Niall ducks below retrieves his musket, plus a pair of wheellock pistols. He passes me mine and tucks the second into his belt. He loads the musket without looking, his eyes fixed on the ship approaching on the horizon.

"Pass me the glass." Niall tosses it my direction and I snatch it from the air, my right hand steady on the alter-wheel. I sweep the spyglass across our visitors. They're gaining rapidly. No surprise, given they have the wind at their backs. There are ten men aboard whom I can see, but there may be more. Corsairs run with odd numbers. Black silhouettes crawl across the rigging, blades and guns in evidence.

"Hold fire, Niall. Let's not invite a broadside. I count six guns."

"Oh, I'd not dream of it. Unless, of course, I had a cannon." He holds the musket ready, a gleam of anger in his eyes.

"We didn't have enough silver or gold to outfit ourselves with cannon. And if we did, we'd not be as fast with that extra weight."

"You be sure to tell the corsairs that."

Gridley's hair rises on his neck. He snarls.

"Steady, boy." I pat him. "Lay low until I need you most--when they board."

He glances at me with a sublimely disgusted expression, saying, _Of course I will_.

Luc joins us. The ship is close enough now I can hear jeers echoing across the distance. He shudders.

"What is it?" I keep _Sleet_ on a steady course. No need for sudden moves on our part.

"They yelled like that. The corsairs who burned my house. Yelling. And screaming." Luc stares at the ship. It's a cold, hard expression I've not seen from him before.

Not for the first time do I wrestle with questions for which I have no answers: Why did soulmages, legendary in their power and rumored to inspire fear in kings, fall to mere corsairs? They could have defied the prohibition on the use of their vaunted power, when it came down to defending their kin. Something prevented them from doing so. It defies all common sense.

"Father died quietly. Stabbed. There was blood all over the dirt." Luc scuffs his boot on the deck.

"I'm sorry his powers didn't protect him." The words have more snap than I intended and fill me with regret as soon as they fly.

Luc locks his gaze with mine. "Father said it wasn't his decision; it was time to leave. He kept the Bloodheart safe, but it couldn't stay there forever. They wanted it."

"The corsairs?"

He touches my hand. Frost forms between our fingers. I gasp, pull from his grip. He holds his hand up to the sun. Warmth melts the ice.

"No. People like you. Father foresaw it." Luc kneels and pets Gridley.

I stare at him, uncomprehending.

"Ahoy!" The voice is rough like rocks tumbling down Pauper's Canyon. "Name your vessel and your cargo!"

"Cutter _Sleet_ , day's sail from Jasna Gora! No cargo to speak of save foodstuffs." I do not mention the platinum relic endowed with strange powers.

The man speaking is tall, burly, and missing an arm. It doesn't seem to hinder his command as he berates his crew. His clothes are a gaudy mix of green silks, burgundy leather and black cloth. He's shaved bald and tattooed with swirling black tattoos that mimic sea beasts. Four gold rings glitter on both ears.

"I'm called Barabos, and I think we'll have ourselves aboard for a look see. And maybe help ourselves to your fine ship."

"I think you'll bleed aplenty if you try!" Niall levels his musket. We're fifty yards apart at this point and I know he won't miss.

Four muskets aim back, from the deck and the rigging. The ship angles to bring her port side along us. Three cannon face us with black maws.

"No need to cause damage to flesh or hull, red hair." Barabos laughs. His teeth are foul as goblin fangs. "You've a feisty hand there, Captain. Just the two of you?"

I smile back. "Niall and myself, and this boy." I pat Luc on the shoulder. Gridley, bless him, slinks along behind the low roof of the aft cabin.

Luc glances up at me and whispers, "Ariya is not--"

"Shall we maintain our course for you?" I overpower Luc's question with my response to the corsairs, matching their volume.

"Stay steady and we'll be along. Have some drink prepared!" The corsairs respond to their captain's ribaldry with raucous laughter, and strange cackling. Green-skinned, hunchbacked creatures lurk about the corsair decks. Goblins.

Niall's snarl rumbles across to me. Patience, old friend. Patience.

The corsairs send three lines across with grapples. Metal hooks dig into the rail and fasten tight. They heave and pull. We're dragged slowly in until the ships are twenty feet apart.

A shadow flicks over the deck. I glance up. Nothing. Have the corsairs noticed? No, far too involved donning excessive weaponry. They walk the ropes without a care, as if they were walking the edge of a dock on a calm bay.

My hand rests on the stock of my pistol. Now would be excellent, Ariya.

The shadow returns, swooping among the sails. A blur of white wings and blond hair whisks between the corsairs. Metal flashes, and one of the ropes goes limp, snapped in two. A trio of goblins tumble through the clouds. Their hideous screams echo on and on.

The rest shout in alarm. Five corsairs make it onto _Sleet_. Another pulls himself back onto the deck of the corsair ship. Three more men and three goblins burst out of the hatch at the center of the hull onto the deck.

Niall's musket thunders. A corsair falls in mid-charge, his sword clattering on the rail. Niall whips out his pistol and fires, misses. Two goblins lash at him with their swords, chattering in a strange tongue and shrieking challenges. He's fast with his blade and parries them both, even as he jumps back onto coil of rope.

The other corsairs come for me.

I duck behind the wheel. A musket ball shatters one of the hand grips, spraying wood splinters. I level the gun on my arm and fire. Smoke obscures my vision but I hear the impact, the grunt of surprise, the thump of a man's body as it slides to the deck. A big brown-skinned brute with curly black hair lies still.

Niall's blade clangs and clashes against its opponents.

The other corsair is a goblin with gnarled mossy green skin and squinting yellow eyes. He's on me in a wink. I dodge a blow from his scimitar and pull my falchion from its scabbard. The blades crash against each other. He's good, this one. His screeches rake at my mind, distracting me from an effective offense. We parry and thrust, dodge and strike, lash and block with each other for an eternity. It could decidedly become a draw, and he has more muscle than I.

The ice is there, freezing my palms. No. I will not let it free again. I trust two things more: my blade, and Gridley.

I whistle sharp.

Gridley leaps from his hiding place. He tears at the corsair's arm, and lunges aside when the panicky goblin swipes at him.

It's distraction enough for me to press my attack. Thrust. He parries. He lashes wildly and I duck the blade, the wind brushing my hair as it sails overhead, and I sink to my knees. Stab up with the blade. Twist.

His eyes go wide, and a guttural cry crackles from his throat. Black ichor oozes around my blade. He looks right through me as his body sinks down.

Niall's shout grows into a roar. He's transformed. Claws shred the shirt of the corsair nearest him, black blood spatters on red fur. Niall tosses the goblin over his head as easily as a child throws away a toy with which he's become bored. The corsair hurtles soundlessly beyond the ship's rail.

The remaining attacker takes advantage of the loss of his comrade and puts a cut across Niall's shoulder. His outrage is louder than the cannon fire. He sinks his teeth into the goblin's arm and yanks him around so hard his body leaves the deck. His backside slams into the forward mast, three feet up in the air.

Niall impales him with his sword.

Shouts from the corsair ship draw my attention. Ariya spirals between their masts, slashing at the crew. One man goes down in a burst of crimson.

More billow onto the deck. Sky's edge, how many crew have they?

Wind tousles my hair and my cloak. It's shifted direction. South.

"Ariya!" I shout. "The lines! Cut them!"

She banks right and zooms along between the ships. Two cuts, and the last two ropes binding our vessels fall away.

"Hold fast!" I crank both wheels until my arms burn from the strain. _Sleet_ rises like an eagle, her sails billowing as they catch the wind.

Ariya alights on the deck. "Niall is hurt," she says.

"Stand down, mother hen." He shrinks back to the shape of a man. The slash is not as deep as I first assumed. He tears off his sleeve and sets to binding it.

"We have a moment or two before they give chase," Ariya says. "Can we outrace them?"

"We only have to get out of range of their cannon, albeit temporarily. I can manage easily enough." Indeed, we've already put on considerable distance.

"And then? Would you like me to trade musket fire with cannon balls?" Niall's griping, but I suspect it has more to do with his wound than our predicament.

"Not at all. We'll lose them. In there." I point.

The storm clouds are ahead.

# THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER

~

The wind picks up.

I dive _Sleet_ into the closest cloud bank. White cottony wisps enshroud us. They thicken and darken as we head deeper into the storm front, until they are charcoal gray.

"Visibility is poor." Ariya stands on the rail to my right, bracing herself on the rigging. She leans far over the side, eyes scanning the horizon--or lack thereof.

"Thanks much for stating the obvious." Niall prowls the deck, his musket propped on his shoulder. Blood soaks the cloth tied around his wound, but he doesn't complain of pain. "We can't see more than a quarter mile ahead or aft in here."

"It is bad, but it's going to be worse." I glance behind us. No sign of our pursuers, yet.

"So we'll only be able to see the ends of our noses, then?"

I shake my head. "Look."

Niall turns. Swears.

Mountain peaks rise at us from the clouds ahead, great jagged peaks of gray and brown sprinkled with deep green trees. More daunting are the islets floating above, half-concealed in the mists, waiting for us. Together they are a mouth full of serrated fangs.

Rain starts as a drizzle and before long becomes a downpour. Wind blows at an angle, making the drops cascade across a deck already slick with water. I hold fast to the ship's wheels. The sails are still taut, full with wind, and this new current shows no indication of slackening.

Ariya spreads her wings. The feathers ripple against the wind. "I make our speed twenty five knots."

"A fine velocity." My hands ache from the effort to keep us on course. The knuckles are as white as the clouds we first encountered. We pass under the first islet. You've not truly sailed the skies until you've gone underneath a floating island a thousand feet wide and weighing tens of thousands of tons. My heart refuses to slow.

"Not fast enough." Niall's at the stern. "Here they come."

True enough. The corsairs have entered the clouds. Through curtains of driving rain, I make out their sails shuddering under force of wind and water. My mind churns with options. If I can keep us ahead they won't get close enough to board; yet, I have no idea how fast they can sail. If I keep us in front of their bow, they cannot use their cannons to give us a nasty broadside.

"They are fast." Ariya hefts her crossbow. "I can make a pass, Captain, and thin their ranks."

"No. It's too far off and the weather too foul. I'll not risk you where we cannot be of help." A vision of Ariya, crumpled and bleeding, spiraling toward the peaks below us... Inwardly I shudder.

_Sleet_ slides by a peak only a few hundred feet away. Niall grumbles but I cannot hear the word. I look back again.

They are gaining.

Luc appears by the wheels. "Why did you kill those men?"

"What? Of all the times... Lad, they would have killed us first given the chance."

"But you struck first, not they." He stares at me with those eyes, sorrowful and maddeningly earnest all at once, doing their best to fill me with guilt.

"I'll not apologize for defending my crew or you from the likes of those savages. If we'd let them aboard we'd all be dead, and they'd have the Bloodheart. Would that be to your liking?"

Luc frowns. He touches my knuckles. "You could have made them cold. Like the golem."

"No." I brush him off. "I will not do this now. You find somewhere to secure yourself and stay close to Gridley."

Ice prickles my hand. I grit my teeth but don't shake it off. No need to show him how deeply the sensation bothers me.

For a moment I fret I've hurt Luc. But his stance remains defiant. "You got rid of the bodies, but not the blood." He walks off with Gridley trotting in his wake.

He's right. I wipe water from my face. There are dark stains in several places on the deck, but no other trace of the corsairs. Niall saw to that. One shove and each body went over the edge.

Cannon fire booms.

"Captain! Bow chasers!" Ariya takes wing, crossbow at the ready. "Let me have at them."

"I said no! Stay with us!" The corsair ship is close enough now I can plainly see the dark cannon ports open beneath the bowsprit. It's as if the ship has eyes, and it's glaring down at us. A flash of fire and puff of smoke issues from one. The sound catches up to us a moment later. The ball blasts by to port. A miss. But close.

I bank _Sleet_ to starboard, and up, turning in to the midst of eight islets packed like sheep huddled for warmth against the squal.

_Sleet_ obeys, ever nimble. She slips by one islet and drops down under another that's so close I cringe waiting for a spar to snap. None do, thank heaven. We move in such accord I cannot tell whether my hands guide my ship or she steers me.

The corsairs, unfortunately, are just as agile. Their ship slides between the rocks without a care in the world. I scowl. So their captain is not all boasts. He can fly well.

That hardly proves him the best.

Rain pelts us. Visibility worsens with every passing moment. The smell of wet hempen rope, wet cotton sail, wet _everything_ permeates the air. Even the sharp cold of the wind is not enough to banish it.

Niall shouts a warning. I give the rise-wheel a spin and _Sleet_ drops fifty feet so swiftly my stomach heaves. The hull groans and the ropes hiss in their mounts. Our mast scrapes by the rocky tip of the underside of an islet tenfold greater in size than my ship. Pebbles join the pelting rain.

Ariya swoops overhead. "You had best not put too much strain on the aethershard, Captain, lest the cannons be the least of your worries."

"I'm well aware!" Twin cannon blasts boom behind us. One whistles by, the sound dying out. The second explodes a nearby peak, throwing up a spray of rock shards and dirt clumps.

"Keep wasting your balls!" Niall shouts until he's hoarse. "You couldn't hit the broad side of a dragon's arse!"

"Niall! I appreciate your fervor but can you lend your talents to something more productive? Say, lookout?"

"Fair point." Niall turns about. "Ah, good idea on your part. Hard a lee and up!"

The winds shove us along, with no sign of slowing. I follow Niall's direction, for I have no desire to impale us on the peak rising from the fog like a whale breeching. There comes a great bump and the screech of rock dragging on wood. _Sleet_ shudders.

Damnation. I've gone and clipped a mountaintop.

The fog suddenly rolls in around us, thick as a wool blanket. Too much sail. We're too fast. But we're almost to the summit.

Two more cannon blasts come. One snaps a handful of lines to port, and a sail slackens. The second tears six feet of the starboard rail clean off, leaving stumps of wood and showering the deck in splints. Niall finds cover under his cloak.

Ariya drags rope from the deck and flings herself aloft once more. I don't look to see how many lines she's able to rig up in this mess, but it doesn't take her long to bring the sail back under rein.

Luc watches it all impassively. He's not belowdecks, as I thought he would go. He's come right back to my side, by the wheels. Gridley whines, and sticks close to us. I feel his frustration as if it were my own. "They can still see us. We're too close."

"The fog is thick," Luc says.

"Not thick enough to hide us." The peaks and islets are terribly close here, like a monster's teeth bared.

"Can you make it worse?" Luc tilts his head to one side.

The fog? Can I make it worse? I blink, rather stupidly I suspect.

It is water, after all, Bowen.

But it means summoning the ice again. I cannot.

"Bowen! If you have a plan inside that stone skull of yours, this is when we need it!"

Niall is right. This is the only way we can evade the corsairs. I hate it.

I reach out toward our pursuers with my left hand, rain-slicked and cold even before I begin the summoning. Steady on the wheel. I make for the nearest pair of islet and peak. "Niall! Full sail!"

"Aye, but you're a madman!" He yanks on the lines nonetheless.

I hear nothing else but the word I need: _Glacii_.

My hand ices. Blue light throbs. I put the barest will behind the words. No blast of frigid ice needed here. Just a subtle crystallizing of water into ice.

The blue glow unfurls a sheet of white that sparkles and shines. It lances out, dead on to our pursuers. Blue streaks spread out among the rain and fog, sharp to the eye. Fog thickens, becomes a white mass as dense as any blanket.

I get a glimpse of the corsair's sails before they disappear. An islet the shape of a lounging cow and five times our size looms out of the clouds directly ahead.

Now!

I crank the wheels hard. Too fast and the aethershard with fracture. Not fast enough and we will die. My left hand is numb and frosty, but I grimace and force it to move. The hull scrapes against the peak, ever so slightly. Niall is thrown to the deck. Gridley barks in alarm. We brush under the islet, with the barest of touches.

We're through.

The corsair ship's prow cuts the cloud like a knife. They stay in pursuit. The twin cannon ports glare at us.

There's no time to fire, or adjust their course.

The hull dips suddenly and banks to port but it is far too late. The mast drags long the bottom of the islet until it snaps. Sails buckle and tear. The impact drops the corsair ship hard toward the peak below. If their captain is worth his aethershard he'll avoid another collision and give time for the shard to bring them further aloft. But he's not fast enough, I see.

A tremendous thunder accompanies the crack of wood and cries of the men as the hull slams into the mountain. There's a flash, a spark--doubtless from their powder magazine. For a moment I can see the black silhouettes of bodies scrambling for the ship's rails. Then the whole works blows apart in a searing fireball. Even from this distance I feel the heat. The explosion echoes far and wide. Shockwave rumbles deep in my chest.

There's silence as we sail on. And silence from below. No cries for help. Only the crackle of fire and the hiss of rain turning to steam.

My head spins around faster than the wheels. I'm gone over the edge. Or am I standing firm on the deck?

"Steady, Captain." Ariya takes the wheels from me.

Niall grabs my shoulders. "Hold fast. You're staggering worse than if you'd downed a whole bottle of whiskey, and I've seen you do just that."

I shake my head. Terrible mistake. The spinning churns my stomach. I have to sit. My arse thumps onto the deck. The whirling subsides.

Slowly. "It worked."

Luc wipes tears from his eyes. "They're gone."

"Yes. And we're alive. Take solace in that."

"No. I won't be glad they're dead." Luc glares down at me. "Like you are."

He's off to belowdecks, finally. Gridley stays, licks my face. He has that puzzled expression plain as day. _What is it with you?_

Never mind me. What of him?

Ariya has us turned back on course for Zadar. Niall gives a wave from further up the deck: the sails are set.

Blast that boy. Worst of it is, he's right. By fire or not, I'm glad they're dead.

I hate the magic inside me all the more.

# THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER

~

Zadar.

Its name calms my nerves without uttering it aloud. White beaches spread out along a squat peninsula, facing deep blue waters of the Adriaticus. The city itself is a huge cluster of thirteen islets, each no more than a quarter mile across, floating a hundred feet over the water. The glow of aethershards shimmers in the shadows between the bottom of the island and the waves. White buildings with terracotta roofs sprawl across the isles and the shoreline below, some towering edifices of three floors home to the wealthy no doubt, others one room hovels with crumbling sides. The beaches are lined with groves of glistening palms that wave dark green fronds at us as we arrive.

Ships. Ships everywhere, of every size and of every flag. Turks and Arabs, Ceylonese, Chinamen and Slavs. Cloudships and the old reliable seagoing vessels. The latter crowd together between the curve of the peninsula and the mainland, sheltered in a wide bay flanked by long, rolling hills. I choose us one of the two dozen berths linked to the island, floating above the seaborne crowd.

Niall shouts a greeting to an Irish merchant vessel. Its crew gives a boisterous welcome. I laugh. It's good to be back.

The sun has dried the rain from our decks, and baked the blood into permanent stains.

We spend little time on provisions, and arrange for a pair of trusted carpenters to mend the broken rail. It's off to Kolovare's inn, by way of a huge staircase hewn from chalky gray stone, a ribbon of traffic between the floating isles and the anchored lands. Men, women, dwarves, reptiloids, and all manner of creatures who have the spark of intelligence walk up and down the ancient, weathered steps. Hundreds of feet create an endless rumble.

One cannot visit Zadar and skip Kolovare's. It sits a few steps off the beach, a long, low motley collection of buildings made of stucco and wood, brick and sandstone. Hideous. Yet there's such laughter and ribaldry echoing from its doors that it cannot be avoided.

Niall and I are greeted by familiar faces, captains with whom we've had long-standing acquaintances--and of course, rivalries. Gridley deigns to let a flurry of hands pet him and soaks up the praises in good humor.

Their boasts and tales do not interest me, but I listen anyway. My ears are keen for any word about the Bloodheart, or its accompanying relics.

Niall, however, soon has a woman for each arm and a tankard of ale for each hand. He's in the midst of a dozen men and women, bragging of our encounter with the corsairs and by all appearances completely oblivious to his bandaged wounds. By my hearing there's at least two more ships and a hundredfold more men than we fought. The young lady with the golden curls at his side is enraptured by this tale, but the brunette is decidedly less enthralled. She takes the ale from his left hand and downs it. Niall doesn't notice.

Ariya will have none of this. Likely than not she's perched atop _Sleet_ 's mast, legs crossed, meditating or somesuch. The Aevorn are not a particularly social folk. Especially not with humans. Besides, she thought it best if Luc remained out of sight and under secure watch. I agreed.

"Isn't this a welcome sight: Bowen Cord come down from the clouds."

The voice is smooth, playful and delightfully female. Vesna Juric stands against the bar. There's nothing I can do to restrain my smile. She and I have not seen each other for a year, but she hasn't changed in any way I can notice. Her hair is still the same lustrous black, falling well past bare shoulders. Eyes as blue as the sea itself watch me as I walk toward her. She wears a pale green dress and a white apron smeared with stains of food and drink.

"Vesna, how I have missed you." I take her hand and press her knuckles to my lips. "You radiate beauty as nothing else in this world or the skies above it."

She smiles back. Ruby red lips threaten me with distraction. "Such a charmer. I have missed you, too, that is certain. But your visits here are hardly pleasure stops. Am I correct?"

"As always."

"Come, let us find some privacy."

She snaps her fingers and orders a young man to keep watch at the bar. We find a small room around the back, down a hallway that is cramped and dark. There's scarce room for two people to walk beside each other. A fine excuse to stay as close as possible to Vesna, and drink in the flowery perfume from her hair.

We walk a long way to the back of Kolovare's before Vesna opens the door to a staircase. We climb to the second floor, and she leads me through a familiar door to a familiar room. There're two windows looking out over the sea. Two wooden chairs, a small table, and a long bed with a deep blue cover and bright white sheets. There's also a cabinet in one corner, made of a heavy pine and inlaid with hypnotic designs, and a dresser off to the other side.

I brush a hand across her shoulders.

"So forward of you, Captain."

"My apologies." I sweep past her into the room and settle into the nearest chair.

"Liar." She crosses to the cabinet. The sway of her hips is something to be admired. Vesna glances back, catches me looking. I simply widen my grin. She rolls her eyes, but does not banish the smirk from her lips.

"So what have you brought to me from afar, Bowen? A lovely tapestry? I still have the one from Nigeria, with the gold tassels." She opens the cabinet doors and removes a bottle of wine. Deep red. She pops the cork and the most delightful aroma fills the air. Two glasses clink together as she pours.

"No, no furnishings this time."

"Weapons, then. Those daggers from Malay fetched a fine price. We both made a handsome sum from their sale to the mercenaries up north." Vesna sits, offers me a glass. The wine has a heady bite to it.

"You'll have to guess far better than that." I swirl the wine in its glass. "This is something... special."

Vesna laughs. The sound sets my heart racing. Memories of softer laughter, this very room... "They're all special, to you." She crosses her legs.

Should never have accepted the wine. Not right off in our discussions. When it comes to negotiating a price she has far better...assets to bring to the table. "How special is a soulmage relic, would you say?"

Vesna's eyes go wide. She takes a long drink from the glass, draining half. "Soulmage relic. Don't toy with a woman's affections, Bowen."

"Never, Vesna. It is a soulmage relic, of that I have no doubt."

"Your proof?"

"We slew a golem to secure it."

"Dragon's flame!"

"Indeed." I drink more wine. Very pleasant, this vintage. "The relic is made of platinum."

"How large?"

I show her with my fists.

"That could bring enough wealth to buy this place free and clear." Vesna sighs. "The Kasun family still owns the lion's share. Four years since Hector died, Bowen, and they still don't think I'm capable enough to take charge. Why, I've had more profit in five seasons than Hector did in his whole ownership!"

Hector died of the same fever that took Cassia and countless others that harsh winter. A sea breeze wafts through the windows. "Maybe they think you need a new man to partner with."

She kicks me under the table, right in the shin. I laugh, despite the sharp pain. "You always did know how to get my goat," she says, eyes narrowing.

"Only fair, given that you often prevail in our negotiations."

"Yes. That is true. So let's continue. There's a man I know. Mirko. He knows the right people with whom precious metals will be highly valued." Vesna finishes her wine. "So I will take it to him--"

"No, I think not. You can bring this Mirko here." The idea of letting the Bloodheart go still fills me with unease. Yet I must be rid of it.

But if there are more relics...if there is something to Evan's tales of the powerful light...

Vesna leaves her seat. She brushes her hand along the tabletop. I cannot help but watch her hands, long and slender, as they slide along the wood grain. "He's a great deal distance away. It may take a week, by the time a message reaches him and he can make the journey."

"If he's willing to shell out silver for this relic, he can certainly stand the hardship."

"Certainly." She leans against the table, her leg pressed to mine. "So we can share the proceeds, seventy-thirty."

"Ah, no thank you. I need at least fifty percent." I reach my hand behind her knee. She laughs and slaps my hand away.

"Sixty-five thirty-five."

"Don't toy with me Vesna."

She sits astride my lap and puts her arms on my shoulders, her fingers intertwining with the hair at the nape of my neck. "Ah, but I do it so well."

"Fifty-five forty-five." My hands may be tingling with ice but the rest of me is on fire.

Vesna's lips tease mine. "I accept your terms."

We melt together into a kiss.

~

It's dark but for the glitter of stars overhead, diamonds on velvet. Shadows of ship's hulls block the magnificent display, heaving at their moorings as truculent hounds on the leash. The black hulks of nearby isles stand still, with specks of soft green light glowing from the aethershards that hold them aloft. The breeze is cool, prickling my skin. We lay atop Kolovare's roof, hidden from all below and above yet observant of the world.

"You're uneasy." Vesna props her head up on her arm. With her other hand she caresses my tunic. "You're never this pensive."

"Aren't I?"

"Your memory's fading if you cannot remember the last time we shared this roof."

"My memory, yes, but never your beauty."

She laughs and slaps my arm. Her laugh draws me in and I cannot avoid her eyes. In the scant light they are deep, dark as the sky at dusk, and her face is a pale blue, as is everything around us.

"You can't hide them, you know. Your worries. Not from me." She shifts her cloak, drawing it closer around her shoulders for warmth. Below us the sounds of revelry trail off as late night carousers amble to their homes, or their berthed vessels, singing sky chanties in slurred tones.

I try not to listen. Focus my senses on anything else--the music pounding in the distance, the shadowy palm fronds rustling, and the smell of pork roasting on a spit.

"Bowen." She tugs my beard until we're facing each other again. "Out with it."

Sigh. "There's no way to throw you off the scent of a secret."

"No. You should know it well enough."

"I do. Though with that faulty memory..."

"Bowen..."

"Very well. This relic. It's--different from anything I've brought you before. It has power behind it."

"So? Magic imbued only increases the worth of something like that."

"Not like this. A friend of mine is convinced that it is only part of a whole, an item that serves a greater purpose."

The last words have to be spit out. Greater purpose, indeed. Memories of my beloved flood me, always awkward when I am with Vesna. I see those corsairs, charred and burning on the mountain peak below as we sail off. Death and more death.

"You're not jesting."

"No. Not of this."

"I take it you're thus having second thoughts of our business arrangement."

"With you it's never just business."

Her smile curves slyly. "What you and I are, Bowen, is a great mystery to me. Lovers, yes, and traders, yet we have no contact for months on end. No letters at all."

"Not now, Vesna. The relic...?"

"What else did this friend tell you?"

"That there is a second relic, and possibly a third, that needs be combined with the first. Somesuch about darkness fleeing before light..."

She nods. "I see that adds a pressing weight to your conscience. You always were overburdened with such"

"And you are not."

"No need to be cruel."

"Not cruel. Truthful."

She rolls onto her stomach. "We've made our bargain."

"And more. But I'm asking for a reconsideration."

"You never have before."

I pull at my beard. "There's something not right, Vesna. Something is wrong. Evan, my friend, he is correct. Surely you've heard rumors of troubles coming."

She looks to the stars, her face aglow. It's a thoughtful expression, one I've seen before as she runs the percentages involved in trade.

"Vesna..."

"Very well. More than rumors." She frowns. "Do you remember Artullis?"

"Of course. Ugly as sin and twice my height. Has a trading post that's five days' sail west. That's where you get your best beer."

"Was. The place was sacked and burned, two weeks ago. They found him and his family slaughtered. Women and children. They were horribly burned, all of them. Some said goblins did it, others corsairs. But they were led by fire-summoners."

She shoots me an apologetic look, and touches my hand. It feels like a hot coal against my cool skin. I cannot blame her for repeating such a tale, and the fear underneath. Summoners are either worshipped or feared. Those with the best control of their gifts are those who serve greater powers--or nefarious causes.

I do not want to be in either camp.

"There is darkness lurking at the edges, Bowen, but there always has been. It will never change in our lifetimes."

"But nothing like this. Not relics that--can see into the depths of your soul."

"If it causes you such pain, isn't it better to be rid of it?" She kisses my cheek.

"Niall will never let me live it down if I embark on this mad quest." I rub my face. The cold of my hand feels good.

"And I am loath to let you leave if you're to renege on our business arrangement." Vesna smiles.

"You assume I want to leave."

"Do you?" Her lips brush against mine. The question is a bare whisper.

No. A thousand times no. I want nothing more than to banish the cold that is everywhere.

She pulls away from the kiss. We're both gasping. "Bowen."

"Yes?"

"Show me this relic of yours. Tomorrow." She presses her mouth to mine. I'm lost in her.

Tomorrow. Yes.

# THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER

~

"NO!" NIALL KICKS AT THE mainmast. There's no danger of it moving under his blow. "I'll not have this quarrel again."

"It is hardly a quarrel when the captain makes a decision and you argue his order." Ariya perches on the starboard rail, wind blowing her hair in blond streams.

We are at anchor at Zadar. The breeze from the sea is heavenly, carrying with it the strong smell of salt. The sun beats down, blazing yellow against a blue sky unmarred by clouds. Our cloaks lay in a heap on the deck, unneeded, and tunic sleeves are rolled up. Beautiful weather for Zadar.

Nothing like the foul moods facing me.

Niall rants and paces as if an armada of corsairs sail in pursuit, his boots stomping the deck. His shoulder wound is stitched and he's foregone the bandages. Ariya watches him, and me, unmoving, her wings bundled against her back. Luc sits on the aft rail and dangles his legs over the side, swinging them in the carefree manner only children can achieve. He watches the cloudships lift from the bay below and rise swift as eagles into the air, dripping seawater and dragging shadows as they pass.

Gridley lies curled at my feet, panting. He cocks his head when Niall thunders by, and gives me one of his looks: _What ails this man?_

"Ah, yes, forgive me dear Ariya," Niall says. "I forgot our dear captain can make all decisions without regard to our getting paid."

"That is not what I am doing, Niall, and you well know it." I settle in for a long haul. When he gets in these moods it takes a dragon's age to bring him down to land.

"Really? Is it so? Because it sounds to my ears as if you've decided against selling that relic."

"I'm contemplating just such, yes. It's far more important than silver."

"Of course it is! It's platinum." Niall shakes his head, red hair tossing in the wind like storm-driven sails. "Claws and fangs, Bowen, we should sell the thing and be rid of it. I care not who has it. We can't live on moldy bread alone!"

"We are hardly broke," Ariya said. "Are our provisions rotted? Our wine casks empty? Our meat rancid?"

Niall quails, but only a touch, under her steely gaze. "No. I didn't say--"

"It is what you meant. Insulting the captain." Ariya makes the same face she reserves for disgust at Niall's eating habits, which can only be described as slovenly.

"You need pay, too, Ariya, or will you just send good wishes and kisses home to your brood instead of silver?"

Ariya's wings come up in a rush of air that rivals the west winds, and her back hunches. "My brood is my concern."

"And my empty pockets are mine." Niall slaps the mast, a heavy, meaty sound that echoes across the deck.

Luc glances our way, but for a moment, then returns his attention to the ships leaving the harbor.

"You've certainly incited a near mutiny, Captain Cord." Vesna has thus far remained silent, smiling that bewitching smile of hers. Her arm drapes the rise-wheel, her fingers caressing the handles.

The combination makes it intensely difficult to concentrate. "I do not want it bandied about to some merchant who has no inkling of what he deals with. This is not a bauble for a dusty shelf. Sky's edge, it was guarded by a golem!"

"And gold is guarded by dragons," Niall snaps. "Doesn't make it something for priests to fuss over."

Vesna's eyebrows shoot up at the mention of priests. "What kind of priests?"

"My friend Evan is a servant of the Most High, at the great library of Jasna Gora," I say.

"Well. That adds all the more intrigue. Show me this relic," she says. "Perhaps I can mediate this dispute."

There shouldn't be a dispute. I am captain, but Niall and Ariya are entitled to their say in decisions aboard _Sleet_ , along with twenty percent each of our earnings. There's not a doubt in which direction Vesna would push the mediation. That is to say, toward the greatest profit.

But arrangement between us or not, I gave her my word to see the relic. I've not broken a promise to her, ever. She means too much to me, has too firm a grasp on my heart.

The face of my beloved appears before me, lovely as the last I saw her. Would I could break the barriers erected by magic and have her here, whole and resurrected, at my side. Yet. My affection for Vesna Juric is strong enough to bring me to Zadar as often as I can spare.

How can a man's heart beat for two women?

Come off it, Bowen. One of them is long dead. Ice clamps down on rank sentimentality.

"Fine." I snap off the words more sharply than I intended. All eyes are upon me in a flash. Even Niall looks surprised, before he returns to scowling. "Luc? Bring the Bloodheart here."

His legs stop their rhythm. He hops down from the rail. The bag is ever at his side. Even in sleep. Luc pauses next to me, and offers a quizzical expression. "I don't know her."

"I do. It's well between us." I pat his shoulder.

Vesna laughs softly. "I should say so, Captain Cord."

Luc edges closer to Vesna and opens the mouth of the bag.

She gasps, quietly enough the wind bears it away. The Bloodheart glitters from the depths of the bag. She kneels, eye to eye with Luc. "May I ...?"

Luc removes it, cradling the Bloodheart in both hands. The bag crumples to the deck. He exhales, and his eyes shut. Breathing slows. His grip tightens.

My hands tingle with cold. When I held the Bloodheart, the experience was ... unsettling. All the senses riled, and the feeling of being pursued. The sheer strength of authority. Amazing.

What does Luc see?

Vesna gently rests her hands atop the Bloodheart. Nimble fingers inspect the etchings, and she stares at it intently, eyes narrowed to blue slits. She's ruthless when appraising anything of value.

Her cry is loud enough to startle seagulls on the rigging into screeching flight. Gridley comes to his paws, hackles raised, and fires off a pair of sharp barks.

"Vesna? What's wrong?" I'm at her side, on my knees, holding her arm. It shakes like the limb of the fever-afflicted. In an instant I am back in my home, holding my beloved Cassia in the throes of death.

Vesna gazes at nothing, pupils constricted. Her mouth is slack. Breaths come short and shallow. Her heart's beat pulses in her wrist.

Luc's face is placid, as if he's asleep yet able to say, "He was such a kind man. Funny. Friendly. Why did he have to die? So warm, his skin. Too warm. Parched..."

Vesna screams, her face twisting in agony.

"No. Release her!" I tug Vesna's hands off the Bloodheart. She collapses, sobbing until my tunic is damp through to my skin. I hold her near. "Steady, now. Be at peace."

"I saw him--I saw Hector, my husband, when he was dying of the fever. Everything was as I remembered: the smell of acacia wood, the sting of smoke from the fireplace, the taste of mulled wine that I fed him. As if I were there again..." She breaks off in to a shudder.

"Steady." I glare at Luc. "What have you done?"

"Nothing." He tucks the Bloodheart into the bag. "It was already inside her. She showed the Bloodheart what hurts."

Vesna stares at him. "There's no anger, only sorrow."

"So sad. I'm sorry." Luc kisses her on the forehead. He walks to the rail, seemingly oblivious to all our consternation, and resumes his leg swinging.

Gridley nuzzles between me and Vesna, offering his support. He gains warm scratches on the back of the neck as a reward.

Niall's voice is hoarse. "You see now? It's a hex on us! Power or not, sell it to some other fool and be done with it."

"That power is why we have to do what Evan said. We have to reunite it with the other relics. The Father's Tear and the Everflame."

"Vesna, talk sense to this madman!"

She shakes her head. "No. He's right."

Even odds as to whether Niall or I is the more surprised. We both gape like village boys covered in grime who've encountered a nobleman's fair daughter.

"After I saw Hector's death, something held me." Vesna rubs her arms. "Something--someone--offered me comfort, Bowen. A voice told me all would be well."

"That was just me, Vesna."

"No. It called me 'Veca.' Only my sister called me that, before she died."

Shivers crawl up my back. The ice grips my hand until it pains. I will it aside, rubbing my hands on my trousers.

"If your friend is a priest and a soulmage, and there's the chance of turning away the darkness, it must be done."

She might as well have sprouted antlers. "Are you mad? You've never been one to fawn over this Most High."

"I know his banner only calls the true of heart. And I know the good his servants do." Vesna points to Luc. "You were right. The thing he carries is no trinket."

My confusion gives way to resolve. She sees it. The Bloodheart has helped her see its purpose. Whatever good it can do, it will not be achieved pawning it like an old charm.

Niall flings his hands skyward. His sigh is akin to a cannon's blast. "Maniacs. All of you."

Ariya flexes her wings and steps down from the rail. "I too share her convictions, Captain. It is best not to trifle with the powers of Old. Golems aside." The corner of her mouth quirks into a smile.

"Thank you, Ariya. Niall?"

He grumbles phrases in ancient Vulpex that would make Skaarl the reptiloid bartender shield his ears, if he had any. But he offers a hand in truce. "You know I'll follow you to whatever lunacy you have in mind."

"And I will make sure you receive some remuneration for expenses," Vesna says. "It's the least I can do."

I kiss her. "Thank you for your trust."

She tugs at my beard. "Just don't get yourself lost to me among--" She frowns. "To whence are you bound, anyway?"

I grin at Niall and Ariya. "Cloud Reef."

"As I said. Madness." Niall shakes his head. "I need another ale."

"I look forward to revisiting the legends of my youth." Ariya elbows Niall. He barks, not unlike Gridley, and takes a swipe at her, but she's already flown up to the rigging.

Luc waves to me. "Is it the Cloud Reef I've heard stories of from traders?"

"One and the only, lad." I pat Gridley. "Nervous?"

"No." Luc smiles. "I've always wanted to meet dragons."

# THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER

~

### Strathern

Zadar.

That's where the helpful sailors of Bristol-on-Sky have sent me with their information. I hate it here. Such indulgence, frivolity, wastefulness of both food and time.

Time is too precious to spend on nothing.

There's no sign of Bowen Cord's cutter, _Sleet_. Not in the water below or at the docks of the islets that comprise the city. Sparks dance along my arm. It's no surprise, given the head start he maintains. Gone all the way back to Bristol-on-Sky only to discover my quarry was several days south.

I threw an old man off the edge there. He was the dockmaster, the one with the whip. Wouldn't share the information he doubtless had, the fool, and dared challenge me.

I see his eyes and mouth wide with shock as he shrinks to a tiny dot, falling to deep dark sea below. The splash is a mere blink.

Amazing how much more cooperative the town's sailors were after that.

~

Kolovare's. All manner of scum and criminals languish here. They're driven inside by the same warm rains that prompt me to cover with the hood of my cloak. No layabouts on the white sandy beach today, with the exception of the men and women too drunk to roust themselves out from under the tenuous awnings of the palm leaves. I reckon a shove off the edge into the warm waters far below would snap them awake.

What a dump this is. I shake off the cloak, flinging raindrops every which way. The crowd to a man glances our direction. I smile but make no announcement of our arrival. The dozen men in king's armor bearing fusils suffice where a trumpet is not available.

My lieutenant is stiff as a board, yet manages to lean close enough to whisper, "The lass by the bar is the owner, by our information. Vesna Juric. Widow."

She's a lovely woman. Long black hair swirls as she turns our way. She freezes, a momentary hesitance, and brings a smooth smile to her face. "Greetings, gentlemen. Do make yourself comfortable. What brings you here? Whatever pleasures you want, we can certainly provide."

My smile is no longer fake. Such a charming presence, and such grace about her. A far cry from the prostitutes I frequent. "Good day, madam. My name is Strathern, and I am on an errand of vital importance for His Majesty, the king of Northamber."

Vesna Juric raises an eyebrow. Most conversation in the tavern ceases, with ears no doubt angled her way. "Oh? You seem a long way off from Northamber. Come for warmer climes and companionship, no doubt."

Laughter rumbles around us, drowning out the patter of rain on the roof. Glad we can amuse these dolts. "Perhaps you can be of service, my lady. I seek Captain Bowen Cord."

That hesitance again. I see it in the tightening of skin about her eyes, the set of her jaw. Fleeting as a sparrow darting among the trees. My sister and I chased them all the time, every spring, laughing foolishly.

"I have heard of Captain Cord. He frequents our establishment, and others." Juric rubs at dirt on the corner of the bar. "What would a man such as you want with a merchant such as he?"

"He has an item I desire. His Majesty King Octavian III has sent me to safeguard it for the glory of the Crown."

She smiles. "An item. You'll have to be more specific. I deal in items of all kinds, the more exotic the better. Would you care for a drink?"

I'll not be misdirected, but... "Rum, please."

She returns with an amber glass. The rum is fiery and blessedly strong. "It is a relic from a soulmage coven, stolen by Cord and rightfully property of the Crown. I am given license to retrieve it."

"It must be valuable for the king to have sent his man all this way." Juric crosses her arms.

"Where is Captain Cord?"

"Not here. Perhaps you should try the Golden Dog, or the Twin Fangs. He's known at those watering holes as well."

"Come now. I doubt he is at either."

She smirks. "How will you know unless you check? Honestly, some men."

"My dear lady, I have found neither hide nor hair of his ship." I drink more rum, and let the cloak slide off my right shoulder. The orb glows. There's a subtle charge to the air, and she senses it. Her fear is palpable. But it's gone behind her mask in a mere wink. She hides her emotions well, this one. "I know he was here. It was told to me from reliable sources."

"I shall have to take your word."

"Let's be blunt. You're a woman of commerce, Vesna Juric. I have faith you are willing to transact with me for the relic's safe return." Sky's fire. I can spin lies better than any spider can build a web. The money bag at my belt jingles with my touch. I toss it onto the bar.

She edges closer. "A transaction? Of what sort?"

I gesture to the bag with the flagon. "Confirm for me that Bowen Cord was here."

Juric does not touch the bag. Her gaze flicks to it and returns to meet mine. "Perhaps."

"Now. Did Cord show you the relic?"

"Perhaps."

"Tell me if I'm accurate--finely wrought platinum, magnificent carvings, the size of a man's fist." I thump one of said fists onto the bar. The coins jump in the bag.

She brushes a strand of raven hair from her face. Such a practiced look of nonchalance. Shrewd. "It does spark a memory. He always brings such lovely things; I cannot keep straight the ancient from the new. If he did have such a relic of great value he spoke of trading it elsewhere, perhaps in the East."

There's hesitation, hedging in her response. But I'm not done. "You touched the relic and know of its power."

It's a gamble, yes, but pays off when her eyes widen. She can't hide the emotion there. Something disturbed her greatly. I press home the inquest, stepping forward until our boots scrape. My voice is a hoarse whisper. "Do not lie about such a thing, Vesna. You sensed its power, didn't you? It's not a mere bauble. That's why I must have it, for His Majesty and for the safety of all the lands and all the skies. It does not belong with the likes of Bowen Cord, or that were-fox and bird girl he keeps as pets. One bad storm and it could be lost to the seas and skies forever. Surely you have heard of the dangers pressing against these lands. You know the relic Cord carries must be kept from the wrong hands."

She looks away. She longs for Cord, this much the rumors at Bristol-on-Sky told me, and even the most brainless toad amongst my soldiers can see it in the way she says his name, and protects his whereabouts. Yet she is a woman of trade. Juric values silver as much as any cutthroat merchant.

"Where did Cord go?" I ask.

"I don't know the precise destination."

"Don't lie, now. You have merchant ships at your beck and call."

Her fingers brush against the bag of coins. "Very well. I do know. But that is business between myself and him, and I'll not reveal it."

Honesty. Refreshing, and irritating enough to send a fresh batch of sparks crawling over my skin. "Surely he will return this way, at some point."

Nothing but a cold smile. "I think it's time you and your men leave."

She snaps her fingers.

Chair legs screech against the floor and patrons rumble to their feet. Must be thirty men, give or take. Burly, skinny, all of leathery and red skin burnt by sun and wind. They block the exit and cluster about the soldiers, brandishing tankards and cudgels and a handful of daggers.

My soldiers have fusils held ready, and my lieutenant's sword slips free of its scabbard. They're prepared, but I can see fear in the wide set of their eyes, the rapid breaths. Only the lieutenant stands firm.

I return Juric's smile, and raise my right hand over my head. Bolts of lightning lance up and dance along the ceiling beams. My hair stands on end, as does Juric's. Men mutter and swear, make warding gestures to fend off whatever devilry they deem at work.

After giving the wood a good scorching, I rein the lightning in. Silence. Utter quiet, except for the rain. Without word the onlookers and would-be rescuers shuffle to their seats.

Good. Keep the rabble at bay. I reach under my cloak. Pull out a small, ornate dagger. The hilt is encrusted with jewels.

Juric tenses. But my intentions are bloodless, I assure you. I let the dagger clatter onto the bar. Worth as much as the bag of silver. "Is your memory improving?"

She scowls at me, the first major crack in her defenses. But she slips the bag and the dagger into the folds of her dress. "I will not tell you where he went. However, he claimed he will return within a week or two for supplies."

Well now. I give my kindest smile and bow neatly at the waist. "Very good. Very good indeed. We shall avail ourselves of your hospitality until then."

I turn toward my lieutenant, but a hand seizes my arm. Not the metal one.

Juric glares at me. "You want only the relic."

"Of course."

"Bowen won't be jailed or otherwise harmed."

"Never crossed my mind, my lady."

"And the relic--"

"His Majesty will keep it safe by his side." Amazing the things people will believe when you tell them with a smile, and with a bag of your silver in their possession.

She does not lessen her grip. My jaw clenches. The orb at my shoulder begins to throb. If this is some kind of ruse, my men won't have time to react before I reduce this woman and her unruly patrons to smoldering flesh.

"I want double this when the relic is in your hands," Juric says.

"Done."

She lets go of my arm and whirls to the bar.

Metal clinks. My lieutenant takes his hand off his sword. Good man. "We'll need more silver from the ship's strongbox, sire."

"Tell the captain he'd best not be stingy."

"You will actually pay?"

"Of course." Idiot. "Why make an adversary where one is not needed?"

"I shall arrange lodging for the men, then."

"Yes. Make certain to split them by squads among as many of these seedy establishments nearby. But not here. Keep _Inexorable_ ready to fight."

"Are you expecting a fight, sir?"

"Always." I lead him from the bar. A glance back confirms Vesna Juric watching us with hawk's eyes. Outside the rain has abated some, down to a fine mist. "Bowen Cord has proven himself elusive, and capable of destroying a golem. No mean feat, that."

"Yes, sir. We shall remain vigilant."

Sky's fire, what a bore. "Have _Inexorable_ moved to a new anchorage, behind the largest island."

"Sir?"

No more questions or I may scream. "We want her ready and hidden, Lieutenant. I'll not have Cord spot us when we're a ways off and douse our sails in ice."

"Yes, sir. Understood."

He rounds up the men and leads them in search of lodging. Imbecile.

~

Everyone on _Inexorable_ ignores me. The crew won't even look me in the eye. Fair enough. I avoid them all and wend my way into the bowels of the ship, deep amongst her rotting timbers, below the cannons and their sulfurous stench, and the food stores that smell equally vile.

Down among the cargo and ballast is a cage.

It's an iron box, with four slits on either side. Nestled among the barrels and crates, it rattles as I approach.

"You'll stand fast and obey when I loose these locks." I dig for my key and open the padlock. Lighting crackles in my hand. Just in case.

One side slams down, banging against the side. A pair of glowing yellow eyes glare out of the shadow. "Eat."

It's a hideous voice, one that brings to mind the breaking bones and tearing of flesh. "No. Not now. I have a message for you to take to the King. Do so and return, and you will eat."

One clawed hand reaches out, tests the edge. Three fingers, glistening black talons, knobbly gray skin. "Meat."

"I said no. Obey my command. Now, Jix."

Jix emerges from the cave, cautiously. He's five feet long, with four leathery brown wings that unfold as ragged sails. He has a narrow snout and bares rows needle-sharp translucent fangs at me. Charming, he is not. But the brass collar stamped with runes that squeezes at his neck keeps him in my thrall.

"Words." He hisses. "Words. Then Meat."

"Yes, fine, you will feed. Tell His Majesty I require the assistance I mentioned when I departed, to rendezvous at Zadar immediately."

"Assistance?"

"Never you mind. Deliver it." I gesture to the hatch.

He crouches, tense. A growl builds.

"Move!" A single jolt of lightning is enough to prod him into flight. Jix screeches his way up the stairs between decks. Cries of alarmed crewmen mark his passage.

Intolerable as it is to control a valkiro, they are invaluable messengers with superb memory and impressive stamina. I have no doubt he'll be away less than two sunsets.

And then... Well. I allow a small smile.

Captain Bowen Cord will have a welcome awaiting.

# THE SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER

~

### Bowen

THE WINDS ARE MERCILESS UP here. They whip and tear at the sails. Our sails strain under the pummeling. But _Sleet_ is no novice to foul sailing. She and I have ventured through worse.

Niall is a fiend at the wheels. He holds her steady, a fierce grin on his face. The wind tosses his hair and he laughs heartily, the sound competing with the howling currents.

Ariya swoops down from her inspecting of the rigging, her fourth such trip within the hour. She is decidedly less cheery. "The lines will hold even if Niall insists on jerking us about. I've made doubly sure."

"I knew you would. Well done." My boot rests on the rail at the starboard bow. I don't look at her. My eyes are busy scanning the clouds for what I hope to find.

Gridley barks like mad. He races to the bowsprit.

As usual, he has me beaten. Only after a few minutes later do I see the long black shapes dipping through gray clouds as thick as cotton. Their forms writhe around towering rock spires whose tops disappear in the very same clouds and whose bottoms hover a thousand feet above the steel gray ocean. Steep spikes of granite, pale brown and white, reach thousands of feet into the air. Sheets of pale green moss coat swaths of rock, and sickly brown vines wrap around long, sharp aethershards glowing green on the undersides of the isles.

We've arrived at Cloud Reef.

"There's company coming!" Niall's voice is hoarse. He waves wildly to port. "A pair diving to intercept us! Here's hoping they're the friendly sort!"

He needn't worry. I expect no trouble. Not with Ariya aboard. The two he spotted are juveniles, forty feet long, more than half the length of _Sleet_. Their bellies are a milky off-white, and the rest of their bodies a deep, iridescent blue and black. They fly in tandem, wings pounding at the wind. Their wings have not yet developed the tatters and scars that adorn the adults', but they are just as translucent, seeming to glow against the sky. The one in front soars past the bowsprit. The crest of spines atop his head and neck is shimmering silver, much more impressive than the stubs of his companion. Flame blasts from his mouth in a ragged stream, a yellow-orange beacon illuminating fangs that would quail even the most stalwart knight.

The dragons are alert to our presence.

"Young sentinels!" I stand on the bow, holding fast to a line. Gridley whines. He tugs at my trousers with his teeth. "We seek an audience with Benath the Wise, the ruler of this air! Send word that Captain Bowen Cord offers his greetings!"

The dragons loop _Sleet_. The crowned one sneers at us--and if you've never seen a dragon sneer, well, more's the better for you. Even Niall has no jibe to utter. The voice is as pleasant as the sound of flesh tearing and bone cracking. "We do not suffer the scum of the earth to enter our domain without invite, wingless worm."

"Brother of the air." Ariya rises from the deck with slow, strong beats of her wings. The sneer fades from the dragon's face into a tight grimace. I take it to be an improvement. "We mean no dishonor. My traveling companions and I wish to have audience with Benath, as folk who have trespassed not against the beings of the sky."

The crowned dragon mulls this, huffing softly as it flaps huge, leathery wings. I can hear Niall's growl building, and I turn about with a glare to direct his way. The sound cuts off and he makes a sour face.

"Set these intruders ablaze and be done with them." This from the younger of the two dragons. He puffs a gout of flame. "I will wager they burn alive before their aethershard fails them."

"No!" The crowned one glares at him, and the younger dragon is abashed into sullen silence. "You know the order regarding Aevorn. She is welcome. As are guests of her choosing."

He comes in closer, bringing his snout arm's length from my body. His breath is a fetid roil of rotted fish and acrid brimstone. "But guests who defile our skies forfeit safety."

I smile, thankfully, and nod in response.

"Follow if you can." The crowned one pounds air with his wings and dives toward the Reefs. His younger companion bellows and gives chase.

"Niall..."

"We'll not lose them, Bowen!" Niall's grin returns, and he cranks hard on both wheels. _Sleet_ careens on the heels of the dragons, ascending into the airborne archipelago.

Dragons are everywhere. Sleek youngsters gambol in the clouds, veering around the mountains. They dive at sheer angles to the ocean, pulling up at the last moment to savage the waves with their claws. Occasionally they bring up a huge fish as a prize, sometimes two.

Cries of infants echo from dark clefts in the islets as we sail swiftly by. Rookeries abound. I count ten on one small peak. Curious mothers, twice as big as the youngsters who so ably greeted us, peer out from the clefts. Their heads are smooth, devoid of spikes, and their hide a mottled gray-blue. They hoot questions to our escorts, who remain well ahead of us but still within sight. No answers forthcoming.

The isles are covered here and there with more of the same green moss and brown vines, with scattered shrubbery. Flocks of small winged lizards swirl through the winds and around the peaks. There are hundreds of them, visible in their own swift clouds crowding the isles.

Beyond the maze of floating islands looms the core of Cloud Reef. I have never seen it, but the stories that spill forth from sailors as readily as the ale flows into their tankards do it no justice. "The Half Fang," I whisper.

Niall gapes and for once, is speechless, at the sight of the huge island that overshadows everything else in the reef. It is the tallest soaring mountain I have ever seen, reaching a mile from tip to top. It is entirely devoid of vegetation. Sometime long ago half the monstrous diamond shape sloughed clean off, leaving one side shorn flat. Legend has it the birth of Benath tore it asunder.

"Home to Benath the Wise, protector of all dragonkind and brethren of the air within the Atlan Reach." Ariya's tone is as reverent as Father Evan's at vespers.

Luc tugs at my cloak. "Captain, need we fear the dragon?"

I glance at one of our guardians. That yellow eye swivels my way, and narrows into a glare. No, they do not want us here. "Ariya is of the Aevorn, and as her guests we are to be treated with hospitality."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Sharp lad, this one. "No, it doesn't."

Luc stares at me a moment, then regards the Half Fang. "I would like to see where they're going to tie us up, if they don't get many visitors."

A fair question. But as we come about to the shorn side of the Half Fang, it is answered. There is a huge cleft, a hundred feet or more across, ripped in the flat face. It is triangular and its depths as black as pitch. It is flanked by two male dragons, seated on their haunches. They look to be eighty or ninety feet long, if laid out straight, and their fan of spikes on their heads would shame the proudest armored soldier. They are colored the same as our escorts, but have flanks riddled with deep, savage scars.

Below the entrance to the cave is a rock outcropping, jagged and thrice the length of _Sleet_. My mind conjures the sight of a lowered drawbridge for comparison. Cords of rope are strewn about the edges, secured to iron pins. Ah. "Ariya, would you mind?"

"I see, Captain." She sweeps ahead and lands among the rope with a flourish of feathers.

Niall steers _Sleet_ alongside the outcroppings. Together Ariya and I, with Luc's help, secure the mooring lines.

Our escorts alight before the cave guardians and exchange a long conversation on growls, snarls and hoots. We're sheltered from the worst of the wind here. _Sleet_ 's gentle bobbing tells me she's pleased with her berth.

Ariya leans close, and gestures to the dragon quartet. "The guards have not agreed to let us enter. They have chastised our escorts for being naive and foolish."

Not a good first impression. I hear a cacophony of thumps from belowdecks. Niall emerges with a brace of pistols on his belt, two muskets tucked under his arms and a bulging bag slung over his shoulder. Metal clinks inside the sack. He grins. "No harm in being prepared."

"No. Niall, we're not strolling into the midst of a dragon's lair bearing firearms and...are those bombs?"

"Why not? Any yes, those are bombs. Which Ariya used to good effect on a certain giant golem." Niall gives the bag a shake.

"We are guests bound to observe the customs of the dragons while we are here," Ariya says coldly, "And not brigands who will strut about with guns. Dragons respect the blade but have no patience for weapons that kill like that."

"So much for your crossbow, then," Niall says.

"Enough. Leave them, Niall."

"Captain--"

"Do it."

Gridley barks to emphasize my command.

Niall grinds his teeth. He stomps below. A heavy thud and loud bang of metal on wood thunder up through the deck.

I secure my scabbard. Gridley sniffs at my side. I favor him with a smile, but he's not reassured.

We disembark under the watchful eyes of our young escorts. They take up positions near _Sleet_ and fold their wings along their backs. The sentinels standing guard by the entrance to the yawning mouth of the cave make no sound. I let Ariya take point, given her status as the only welcome biped amongst our party.

"Greetings, brothers of the air." Ariya bows deeply. The rest of us take that as our cue and follow her motion. "We wish to visit with Benath the Wise on a matter most urgent."

The dragons are unmoved. Smoke drifts in lazy tendrils from between their fangs.

"Chatty," Niall mutters.

I skewer him with a glare.

Ariya stands erect, and spreads her wings. "We desire Benath's counsel. Will you not heed the request of your sister on the wing?"

Again, nothing is said. But the two guardians do shift their gaze, far over our heads. I glance behind us. The young escorts standing watch at _Sleet_ lower their heads to the ground. Perhaps more surprising than a dragon's ire is seeing a pair embarrassed.

Luc whispers to me, "Don't they know we must find the next piece of the Bloodheart? Why can't we tell them?"

"We will, lad. Patience." All the same, I tire of these forced pleasantries as much as Niall. I lean into Ariya. "It is time."

She nods. "Brethren, we have something valuable to present to Benath, a treasure of great worth and great power."

The dragons unfurl their wings, great leathery canvas that dwarfs the sails of _Sleet_. Wind whistles through rips in the blue-black material. They extend their necks, curved with scales, until their faces are ten feet from ours. Heat shimmers in the air between us.

Luc steps forward, as easily as if he were approaching to pet Gridley. He smiles and opens his bag. "Here."

I catch a sparkle of light from the Bloodheart.

Luc lifts it into the light. It gleams white and silver. And the dragons recoil. They move so swiftly their bodies snap the air as a cannon blast. How are creatures so large so nimble?

They move apart, away from the entrance to the cave. Their wings shrink to their flanks. No words spoken. No commands given. Only admittance.

Luc returns the Bloodheart to the bag.

The dragons completely furl their wings. They watch us with narrowed eyes that shine yellow as we walk between them. Into the black depths of the cave. The breeze behind us rustles our cloaks and moans across the mouth of the cave.

Our boots echo on rock. Scabbards slap against out sides. There's no other sound, and the cavern grows darker with each step we take. It's impossible for it to become darker. Ariya stays in front, until Niall pushes past her. His hand rests on the hilt of his word, and he can clear it for action.

The floor descends, and light builds suddenly from the other end. A soft yellow glow. It glitters.

The passage opens onto a chamber that dwarfs the greatest cathedral ceiling at Jasna Gora. It peaks far over our heads, lost in shadow. Light filters from several fissures, reflecting off crystals that dangle like icicles. A few aethershards lend their subtle illumination to the mix of colors. But the yellow I see is not from them.

No. It comes from gold.

There are heaps of it covering the floor of the chamber. We stand at the lip of rock, and look out over the sprawling pit filled with treasure. Ingots, coins, jewelry--it all runs together like grains of sand on the beach.

Niall whistles, a low, soft sound.

Luc peers over the edge. "There is a lot of gold down there."

I nod, struck dumb.

Ariya tenses beside me. In the dim glow from the crystals and the treasure I can make out her face, wary and watchful. "He is here. Can't you smell?"

Niall sniffs. "Rank. Fish and metal."

"And dragon."

The far wall of the cavern moves. Heaven help me, the entire wall moves. It shuffles and shudders, peeling itself up from the floor and lurching across the gold.

Niall's blade flashes in front of us. I clear my falchion from its scabbard.

There are legends that tell of a dragon so old, so massive, that he is revered as the father of all sea- and sky-dwelling dragons. His form blocked the moon and the stars when he flew. None could stand against him, but he long ago foreswore his power to rest in solitude, to guard his hoard, and to ponder the mysteries of this world and the realms beyond.

I can only guess at Benath's size as he uncoils before us. Twice as big as the guards posted outside? He could measure two hundred feet, perhaps more. Wings are folded into leathery drapes of faded blue that could cover _Sleet_ many times over. He has the same blue hide of the male dragons we have seen to this point, but the colors are dimmed by time and the skin weathered with age. Dozens of spikes, shining obsidian, protrude from the back of his head. His face his huge. He can swallow any of us whole. His expression is creased with lines as craggy as the rocks around.

He roars. There has never been a more thunderous noise. Not even the volcanoes of Tamborata shake the air such as this. Niall drops his swore and claps his hands to his ears, howling in anguish. Gridley presses to Luc, whimpering and whining as if he wishes to do the same. My body is pummeled by the sound. For a long moment I cannot feel my heart beating.

Ice paralyzes my hands, but I keep a death grip on my sword.

Fire bursts from Benath's mouth. It scours the ceiling, and that's when it is apparent bundles of moss and wood are affixed there. Whether by man or dragon I do not know. All that matters is the ceiling becomes a mass of writhing fire, the greatest torch ever.

Benath arches his neck toward us. He opens his eyes. They are bright green, and big enough for Luc to curl up comfortably inside.

"Blades." His voice is a rasp of rock on rock, and the rumble of waves on a storm-thrashed coast. "Worms come for me with blades. And an Aevorn betrays me?"

"It ... it is not betrayal, Great Benath." I admire the steel that emerges in Ariya's voice after the initial trepidation. "We bring a gift."

"Show it now," Benath growls, "And let us see if you lie. For if you do I shall make meal of your flesh and bones."

# THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER

~

THE LIGHT OF BENATH'S FLAME leaps at us from around the cavern, reflecting off the shining gold and glinting blades. For despite his warning--or perhaps because of it--Niall and I keep out weapons at the ready.

Luc is stock still, eyes wide as saucers. He makes no move to open the bag. Whatever joy he had at seeing the dragon guards outside has fled in the presence of Benath. Can I blame him? It's all the determination I can muster to not let my sword shake in my grip.

"Give me the gift," Benath rumbles.

Ariya bows. She ducks to Luc's side. "Present Benath the Wise with the relic, Luc."

Luc shakes his head.

"We don't have time for this," Niall growls. "There are four dragons outside this cavern even if we could manage an escape from this beast--"

"Beast?" Benath laughs. The ground shakes, and the sound rattles my bones. Pebbles trickle down the sides of the caves, tinkling where they hit gold. This is no belly laugh. It grates on my nerves as a plow tears at the rocky soil. "I am the beast? You come with weapons forged to kill. Your ship carries man-fire. These things you make so you can challenge the power of the dragons."

"We mean no offense, Great Father." I shoot Niall a glare faster than Ariya can loose an arrow in battle. "We have never before set foot in the realm of your kin. The lad fears you."

"The lad does fear me. You all do. Even our sister of the skies." He takes in a long, slow inhale. His neck bulges. "Yes. Your fear is strong."

Ice tickles at my palms. I lock it away. Instead I ignore all but Luc. His hands grip the bag until the knuckles are white as clouds. I kneel in front of him. "Lad. It's all right. Show him the relic, just as you did the guards."

He nods. Small fingers fumble with the opening to the bag.

"Step closer, child, that I may see this gift," Benath booms. Talons scrape across the field of gold.

Luc gasps. He cradles the bag.

I sheathe my sword. "Luc. Stand with me." I take his right hand and loosen his grip on the bag until he's holding my fingers.

"I will." He squeezes his eyes shut, and whispers words I cannot hear. When his eyes reopen he is the Luc we've come to know, bright and inquisitive, with a reserve of calm reopened. He smiles, and the expression does not falter. "We don't have to be afraid, do we?"

I look up at Benath, at that fearsome face, the fangs that can rip my body to bloody shreds, the armored scales that can bend my blade, and the fire licking at the ceiling of the cave. "No. No, of course not."

Luc opens the bag. "That's what my father always told me. Be not afraid. I go before you."

Together we step closer to the lip of rock. Gold gleams far beneath our feet. Luc pulls the Bloodheart from the bag, and holds it aloft with both hands like an offering.

Benath is so still, so silent, he's become a statue as solid as the golem we fought. The crackle of the flames above and the steady rush of breath from his snout are the only sounds in the cavern. He moves in close, closer, until his snout brushes Luc's body.

The lad doesn't panic. His eyes are white and wide, but he stands firm.

I have my hand on my hilt, for the lot of good that will do me to wield steel against Benath should he strike.

Benath sniffs. The air sucks at Luc's shirt, ruffles his hair. The dragon's eyes are pinched shut, until his nose brushes the Bloodheart. The relic gleams gold in the reflected light of the fire and the treasure.

"My child." His voice is a soft murmur that could have come from Niall whispering in my ear. His eyes open, glowing with green intensity that focuses on...me. He's looking right at me. My insides freeze.

"Yes?" Luc's arms are starting to shake from the weight of the Bloodheart.

"You have brought the Bloodheart back to me." Benath chuckles again, a more pleasant sound this time. His face, though, looks no less fearsome. "Why?"

Luc glances at me.

"Mighty Benath," I say, and my words are blessedly firm, "I have read legends that tell the answer to the riddle of this relic lies with the dragons of the Atlan Reach."

Benath snorts. Smoke mists about us in a cloud big enough to fill _Sleet_ 's deck. Niall explodes in ragged coughs. "Who peddles such nonsense?"

"The priests of Jasna Gora."

Scaly eyebrows rise. "Oh? No fools, then, they. But they overdramatize. There is no riddle to the Bloodheart. It was mine."

That's unfortunate. Wishful notions of selling platinum to the highest bidder evaporate like Strovograd vodka spilled in the sun. "Then ... all the better we have returned it to you."

"No, man-worm, it is not mine to keep. It _was_ mine to create." Benath smiles--or I take the spreading of his rows of gnarled fangs to imitate a smile. "My clan forged the Bloodheart from the purest metals a thousand years ago. But we did not give it strength. That was the doing of the Most High."

"The...Most High."

"You think you can stand against him. Man-worm." Benath's laugh shakes everything, the whole of the Half Fang. Niall has not put his blade away, and I believe this is a decent precaution. "The Bloodheart is of His making. It is the vessel for Him."

"We are told this is the place where another relic dwells," Ariya says. "Great Benath, we seek the Father's Tear."

He arches his brows. "Ah? You would reunite the three? Well, now. This is unexpected. Then you lied. This is not a gift. You will not return the Bloodheart to me."

"Our intent is to unite the three relics, as you said, and make certain they are available to hold the tides of darkness at bay." My fingers grip the hilt of my sword tightly. The ice is unbearable. My hands are not glowing. Yet.

"Darkness? What do you know of darkness?" Benath draws up as tall as the chamber will allow. He spreads his wings from cave wall to cave wall. There would be no escaping, nor would there be fending him off, should he choose to strike. "I will tell you of darkness. It covered this land a thousand years ago. Even the dragons cowered from it. But the Most High created a way to keep at bay those who would summon the elements of the world for destruction. They were sundered, and the Bloodheart separated into its components. They were scattered, entrusted, hidden. Now here you are with the Bloodheart borne on the hands of the innocent. Ice-summoner."

My heart goes solid. Niall swears in vehement vulpex fashion. Ariya bunches her wings together and stands steady.

"Yes, I smell the cold on you, man-worm." Benath bares his teeth. "You come here with the Bloodheart, demand of me the Tear, and expect the dragons to do your bidding. No. Never. I shall enjoy sucking your gristle from between my fangs, meal."

"Please!" Luc's voice cuts across the chamber, echoing plaintively from the walls. He thrusts the Bloodheart out and steps closer to the edge of the treasure pit. "You must help us. My father said this is important. And they killed him! But they didn't take this away. We kept it safe. Help us!"

The Bloodheart flares white.

The light is dazzling, more intense than looking into the sun full on. I shield my eyes. Luc is silhouetted against the light, a shadow at sunrise, and a ringing like chimes at vespers fills the room. Gridley howls in frustration. Ariya and Niall clamp their hands to their ears.

Rock crumbles. Luc slips at the edge, and falls.

"No!" I lunge for him but cannot see in the blinding light. My fingers grasp for his cloak and miss. Fabric slips through them.

There is a great rush of air, as if a storm front were blowing in from the west. Luc's body hits something hard with a slap, but not metallic in sound. He's not fallen far. My eyes are squeezed shut, dripping tears, and the Bloodheart's light turns everything under my eyelids red. It fades unto a soft glow, until I'm staring at black. I open them.

Benath is there, his head just below the edge of the rock plateau on which we all stand. Its edge is more ragged, crumbled away. Luc still holds fast to the Bloodheart, and he is curled atop Benath's snout, with a free hand gripping a long black spike. The Bloodheart pulses, a soft white glow that appears and disappears in rhythm.

It beats.

"You." Benath's tone is a murmur again, a low rumble. "You hold the Bloodheart and it listens. Your heart is clean, then."

Luc looks up at Benath's spikes. He cannot see the great dragon's eyes from where he lay. "I know the truth."

"So you do. So you do." Benath rears his head, and angles his snout so Luc can be safely deposited on our rock outcropping. I pull him close into a hug, surprising myself with the ferocity of my grasp. He was lost to me, for that brief heart-stopping moment. Why should it matter?

Gridley is on us, dispensing licks whether desired or not. He turns to Benath, cocking his head in evident puzzlement. But he doesn't growl or whine.

Benath turns his head again. Those great green eyes glow as lanterns. "I was mistaken." He rumbles with a chuckle. "Remember well, worms, because I do not often err. You carry the Bloodheart not for gain, but for good. The Most High is with you."

Most High. The talk is enough for me. My teeth grind but I manage a civil tone. "Will you help us, then?"

"I will help the lad, because he is like me. He is consecrated, knowing the truth and ultimately unafraid because he does. Here." Benath inclines his head, bringing it closer still. Luc does not flinch now, but regards Benath with all the concern Gridley would give a mouse. "Behind my right eye, amidst the scales. Reach until you feel the cold."

Luc has the Bloodheart tucked under his left arm. With his right hand he does as Benath instructs. Tiny white fingers poke between scales the size of dinner plates. Luc chews his lip. "Wait. Here?"

"Yes. Take it. Pull, child."

Luc yanks. Metal rings out. In his right hand he holds a metal spike. Four inches long and black as night. Its edges shine with reflected light from the fire, and the Bloodheart. Strange runes are carved on its surface. Each side is perfectly symmetrical.

"It's ... strange." Luc frowns. "It pulls my hand."

Benath nods. "Set the Bloodheart down. Hold the Tear over the Bloodheart."

Luc obeys. As he extends his arm with the Tear aimed straight down to the rock floor, the Bloodheart's pulsing increases. It rises off the floor, hovering, floating slowly upward, a feather drifting in reverse. As it nears the Tear it begins to spin, faster, ever faster. It bursts apart, curved fragments of flashing white metal. A warm breeze washes over us.

"It's pulling stronger!" Luc's arm shakes.

"Release it." Benath's eyes are locked on him.

Luc lets go the Tear. It snaps down to the Bloodheart. When it reaches the center of the whirling fragments it stops cold, suspended in midair. The Tear emits sparks--first, tiny ones like static, then more and more until a flurry of miniature bolts of lightning lance out at every one of the Bloodheart's pieces. They drag the pieces back in.

The Bloodheart rushes in on itself, reforming, into its familiar shape. A rush of cold air pulls away from us, and gives the relic one last spin. Its pieces slam together with a clang that reverberates off the cavern walls, sealing the Tear deep inside the reformed Bloodheart. The glow dies. It drops.

Luc catches it as handily as a man breathes.

"Good. Very good indeed." Benath rears up and looses a gout of flame up at the ceiling. The glow illuminates everything yellow-orange, bright as day for a moment. "You are worthy of carrying this burden, child. Be wary of its dangers."

Luc nods. "I will."

Benath stares at us. At me. One would think the warmth of flame would penetrate the ice crystallizing in my body, freezing my limbs. I will it away, demand its retreat. It obeys, though it does not flee entirely.

"You would do well not to trifle with the Bloodheart," Benath rumbles. "It will grant you great abilities, and protect you from enemies, but it will not be manipulated."

"I understand." I do not.

"I smell your fear, ice-summoner. You heed your sister of the winds, and leash your were-fox. I will be watching you, rest assured, as you seek the final element of the Bloodheart needed to make it whole again."

"And how will you do that?" Niall says. "Is there a map tucked in your underbelly?"

Him and that mouth of his. "Enough, Niall."

"Always full of bluster, the Vulpex." Benath grins. "Take heart. You will be shown the way."

At that, the Bloodheart begins to pulse once again. A dull red glow. Very slow, and measured, no more than once every five seconds by my count.

I bow deeply. "We are in your debt, Benath."

"Yes, yes you are, man-worm. Yes, you are."

I am not reassured by his laughter as we leave the cavern. 

# THE NINETEENTH CHAPTER

~

### Strathern

He's coming.

_Sleet_ is twenty miles off. Even at this distance, tiny as she is through the eyepiece of my spyglass, I can see she's a fine vessel. Swift lines of her hull cut the clouds.

Pity I will destroy her. The plan may need reconsideration. I could use such an agile scout in my fleet.

Yes, I have a fleet now. Jix was successful in his errand. He's locked safely away in his cage. Gorged himself into a stupor on lamb upon his return. Live lamb, of course. The sounds of that meal will not soon fade from my memory--bleating voice, crackling bones, ripping meat. But he came back leading four ships, so I'm inclined to put it aside best I can.

Granted, these ships are built for speed and not for war. They're schooners of six sails, not as slender as _Sleet_ but nimble in their own right. All of them are running with eight guns apiece, which is more than adequate for the mission at hand.

We'll have Bowen Cord nicely hemmed in.

_HMS Vigil_ and _HMS Encampment_ I have sent to opposite ends of the Zadar islets, shielded behind them from any western approaches. _HMS Cobra_ and _HMS Rattler_ are moored in the bay, below the islands, a half mile to the northwest and southeast, respectively. _Inexorable_ , as I commanded, waits behind the hills to the east of Zadar amongst a smattering of smuggler ships and a pair of trading feluccas. Several tried to leave when _Inexorable_ took up her hiding place among the forest of masts. The implied threat of our cannons keep them in place.

All Cord will see is the back of our sails, the emblems hidden from his approach. We are far enough away it gives the illusion our towering masts are the same height as the smaller ships near us.

"The captains await your signal, sire." My lieutenant salutes. He doesn't have a button out of place nor a strap unbuckled.

I, on the other hand, have draped my cloak over the stern deck's railing and rolled up my sleeve. Sunlight glints of my metal arm. The breeze off the sea is quite pleasant, and I close my eyes. The smell of the surf is refreshing, even this far behind the city. I'd like to step away from here, to the farm of my ancestors, and the ports nearby.

"Sire?"

"Don't interrupt." My eyes snap open. "I doubt even those dolts will miss the signal."

"Yes, sire."

Idiot. I sweep a glance across the decks below. The crew mill about, readying cannons, scampering up the rigging, swarming about the three masts doing all the things they do to prepare the ship for battle.

A short battle, but battle nonetheless.

The captain is a great block of a man, wide as he is tall and graced with both the temperament and good looks of a troll. Black beard, black hair, dark eyes, skin tanned brown. He wears the red jacket which only captains are allowed, with his own brown cloak discarded I know not where. "Sire, my crew awaits. Give word and we'll be airborne in three minutes."

"Good, Captain Hamish." I lift the spyglass. Cord comes. If he suspects anything, the approach of his cutter does not betray suspicion. "And how is our guest?"

Captain Hamish smiles. "She's as comfortable as she's going to get."

The devious wench herself, Vesna Juric, stands detained behind us. Her hands are bound behind her, and her mouth closed with a gag. Neither stops her from slamming a booted heel into the shin of the burly sailor with gold earrings who was supposed to have her in custody. Instead she strides to me with all the bearing of royalty.

"You have words you wish to exchange with me?" I smile.

She narrows her eyes, those glittering emeralds, and tosses hair from her face. The lift of her chin and haughty expression suggest I'd have better luck hand-wrestling a golem.

I gesture to the lieutenant. He yanks the rag tied about her face down without ceremony, and she sputters. "Speak now, my lady."

"How dare you abduct me without cause!" Her voice cuts through the air as clear as a temple bell. "I gave you the information you sought and you promised me further compensation. This is hardly what I envisioned."

"My lady, please. Do not fluster yourself. I have renegotiated the terms of our agreement in light of recent developments."

"Renegotiated? Your king must have quite the opinion of himself if he thinks his reach extends from far-off Northamber to the merchant houses of Zadar." Juric sneers. "House Kasun is my patron, and I have dealings with House al-Shem, House Napthalaras--"

"None of which will do you any good." I pull the letter from my pocket. She halts mid-harangue. Her eyes widen, ever so slightly. "Yes. I found it. Did you really think you could slip it by my men?"

Her mouth closes, works as if she's chewing upon new words to unleash. "Doorward Strathern, please let me explain."

"There is no explanation. Your heart longs for Bowen Cord and it has undone your abilities as a trader. You gave up silver and the lure of more treasure for the promise of a warm body in your bed." I open the letter. "You didn't even have the good sense to encrypt the contents."

"There wasn't time." Juric scowls. "Once I heard Bowen was coming back for certain I knew I had to try to get him word."

"Yes, I know. He was at Taranto two nights past." I smile again at her evident consternation. Jix is such a useful spy as well as errand valkiro. "It matters not. Now I have something even more important than firepower to use against Cord."

"What, pray tell, is that?"

I lean in close. Her scent is divine. I brush away a strand of black hair and tuck it behind her ear. She shivers. It would be so simple, and well within my rights as the King's servant, to take her as I please. Well worth it, no doubt.

"Leverage," I whisper into her ear.

~

_Sleet_ makes for the largest of the docks at Zadar. I turn to Captain Hamish. "Now."

The captain shouts orders at his crew, and _Inexorable_ , true to his words, rises into the air with the restless energy of a bear shaking itself awake to hunt for food. Sails billow like clouds, and the magic ship's aethershard surges through the hull. I can feel its strength, like the sun's warmth on a cold day.

I raise my hands to the sky. The orb at my shoulder throbs with restrained power. Time for the signal. The lieutenant wisely pulls Vesna Juric aside.

" _Fulmine icta_."

Lightning blasts forth. The bolts rake at the sky, leaping up to the clouds. Thunder rumbles across the hills.

I'm coming, Cord.

Cannon blasts answer the thunder and lightning. Two, then a third, followed rapidly by the fourth. The other four ships cast off, heading to intercept. _Vigil_ and _Encampment_ are closest.

The black and red banners of Northamber snap in the wind. Surely Cord has seen and heard by now.

He has. _Sleet_ banks hard starboard from the docks, narrowly missing the furled sails of a wide-bottomed carrack trader. She pulls up and away, turning her hull at such a steep angle I wonder how Cord can put her through such maneuvers without shattering her aethershard.

_Vigil_ is on her tail. The captain puts a warning shot across the stern. There's a flash of white that leaps across the space between the ships. The cries of men under attack carry faintly on the wind to where I pace _Inexorable_ 's stern deck. My spyglass reveals the source--the Aevorn female. She races across _Vigil_ 's deck with such speed I can barely keep the glass focused on her. White wings blur and her crossbow snaps off arrows with startling accuracy.

"More speed!" I flail the spyglass at the hapless sailor at the wheels. "We'll not have a prize if our enemy's crew uses our men for pincushions!"

Captain Hamish translates my rant into precise orders. The sails gather up more wind, and we gain speed. _Encampment_ pulls even with _Vigil_ in pursuit of _Sleet_. Musket fire cracks. The Aevorn woman spirals to her ship.

How many has she killed? Enough that _Vigil_ goes momentarily off course and _Encampment_ must take up the slack.

Thankfully _Cobra_ and _Rattler_ join the fray. They rise from the opposite berths and race at steep angles. Their courses will take them in arcs and put them in front of Cord's bow.

He knows it, too. _Sleet_ pulls to port and noses down. But my ships are not easily dissuaded. I grin. No traders are these. Good sailors. Good crews. Driven by the lash and fear of pain.

More cannon fire rings out. _Inexorable_ closes range. _Sleet_ turns toward Zadar, and to us, as we soar over the orange terra cotta roofs of town. She hems and haws, uncertain which way to turn.

Now the noose tightens. The other ships take up positions around her, cannons brought to broadsides.

I step up on the rail and seize the rigging with my real arm. With the metal hand I press my palm aside my throat, and shout, "Bowen Cord and crew of _Sleet_! By order of His Majesty the king of Northamber, I command you to heave to and furl sail! You are hereby detained on royal authority!"

My voice booms like thunder itself across the sky. I see the shapes of Cord and his people on deck. A tiny flicker of light emanates from the bow.

Spyglass.

I smile. "Lieutenant, bring her to me."

He drags Vesna Juric forward. She struggles and kicks, and he absorbs her blows without complaint. When near enough I take my metal arm and pull her up onto the rail by her right arm. She screams. A natural response for a woman being dangled several hundred feet over the ocean.

Feast your glass upon this, Cord.

For moment, nothing. _Sleet_ continues on her course toward _Inexorable_. Captain Hamish barks a command, and _Inexorable_ swings to starboard, presenting the gaping maws of eight cannons to the onrushing cutter.

Is he daft enough to attempt to run us down? _Sleet_ has no weapons.

But Cord is an ice-summoner. He could, were he trained to his full potential, conjure a blizzard that would toss _Inexorable_ as a cork in a bucket.

_Sleet_ 's sails furl. She slows to a drift, coasting on her momentum and held aloft by her aethershard.

A cheer goes up from the sailors. I suspect the gunners, though, would have preferred to fire. I am in no mood to celebrate, just yet, and that is why I pull Juric back from a long fall but do not set her down from the stern deck's rail. "Bring us alongside her, Captain."

"Aye, sire." Hamish commands his helmsman and sailors ably. One would not think _Inexorable_ could slide up to the smaller cutter with such dexterity. But she does, and our starboard sails brush near to _Sleet_ 's hull.

Cord is there.

He's what I expected of a merchant captain from the north: average height, average build, though even separated by thirty feet of open air I can see that his arms are well-defined by muscle. How long has he been a captain and sailor? Years. Long enough a life outdoors shows in the lines on his face and the golden tinge to brown hair. A handsome man, fit to win Juric's heart. His cloak billows around him, the wrath in his expression personified.

"You have no business with her," are the first words from his mouth. Strong words. Not a moment's hesitation.

I smile in return. Any doubts of their mutual affection are dispelled. "On the contrary, Captain, the lady and I made an arrangement for a sizeable sum of silver."

"What do you want?"

"It's not any sundry goods in your hold."

Cord is silent. I size up his crew. A mangy cur growls and barks at us from beside his leg. At the wheels is a towering man with blazing red hair and a brace of wheellocks. The vulpex, no doubt. My lieutenant is fore, with his musket aimed steadily at the imposing figure. The Aevorn flits down to the deck from the masts. She has a crossbow bearing a wicked arrow aimed for me, and a scowl that could burn lead.

Cord pushes her aim aside. "We don't carry much else--and I'm sorry but I don't believe I've made your acquaintance."

"I am Strathern, Doorward to the King of Northamber, his personal representative on a quest to reclaim relics of significance." At the word "relics" Cord's hand twitches. He flexes it, curling the fingers. Perhaps it was a trick of the sun, though the clouds are now thicker overhead, but I swear I saw a blue glow.

"Before you consider a set of lies while you formulate your escape, Captain, let me say I will not hesitate to drop this fine lady from the skies if you made any rash attempts at subterfuge." Juric is in tears, but she glares at me. I jerk her arm, and her shoes scrabble for grip on the ship's rail. "Give me the relic."

At this a boy pushes between Cord and the Aevorn. So. This is he. The lad whom my informants said hailed from the coven of soulmages. How do I know, with hardly a look? No other child carries themselves with such an air of peace about them, with such confidence borne in their eyes. He stares at me, frowning. Hypnotic.

I hate him already.

"If I give it to you, what will you give me?" Cord asks.

I give Juric another shake. "What you understandably desire."

"If you've put so much as a hair of hers out of place I will slit you from navel to neck and leave your entrails for the gulls." It's not a shout, but a cold, hard promise.

"Such bold talk from the man surrounded by five of His Majesty's warships. Come now, Captain. Let's come to an agreement--oh, and let's add to that agreement the unnecessary folly of any attempt to ice things over."

Cord's eyes widen.

"Yes, you see, Captain? Brethren like us must know these things of each other." I form a spinning orb of ball lightning, and murmuring the proper incantation send it crackling across the space between us, trailing sparks and tiny bolts. I stand there for a moment, no grip on the ship's rigging, balanced and free. Juric is forgotten. Only the power within me takes my focus.

Give me more.

"You give Vesna to me, and we'll arrange for a trade." Cord has his hand on his sword's hilt.

"Those are not terms I agree to. Let me give you--"

"Bowen, don't deal!" Juric slips from my grasp. Quite the surprise, this one. "He means to kill you!"

I slap her hard across the face. Certainly Cord sees it. His sword flashes from its scabbard. The Aevorn lifts her crossbow again. A handful of my men, on the quarterdeck, jostle their muskets into position.

"Stand down!" My voice roars across the sky. "Of all the idiocy! I want the man alive, and I want the relic in my hands!"

Temper. Must rein it in. I let the lightning crackle across my skin. Soothing. Give them a smile and start again. "Captain. A man of your abilities can find great employ with His Majesty. After all, slaying a golem? Quite impressive. But my patience has limits, as you see. I give you this last chance. Surrender the relic and yourselves to me."

I seize Juric's arm and haul her up again. "And if you need a reminder why..."

"No!" Cord stretches out his hand.

"Think swiftly." I press her over the rail. She screams.

A bone-shattering roar drowns out the sound

A dragon swoops on us from--where? The accursed thing flies out of the sun! Blue and white, a marvelous creature with a bold crown of spikes, it dives at _Vigil_ and spits a ball of blazing yellow flame at the ship. One of my ships! Cotton ignites, burns and blackens. And it rushes by, wings pounding air, and lets loose another gout at _Rattler_.

Cord's crew shouts in adulation.

Men cry out in terror and officer shout orders. Gunfire erupts in a volley of deafening cracks.

"Hold fire! Hold fire!" I scream until I'm hoarse.

Vesna Juric knees me in the gut, knocking the wind from me mid-shout. She slithers out of reach, and vaults to the quarterdeck into the commotion of sailors.

Dragon.

Where the hell did Bowen Cord get a dragon?

# THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER

~

### Bowen

They have Vesna.

It's all I care about, even with a dragon roaring over our heads and blasting the Northamber ships with flame. "Niall! Take us up and get out of here!"

"Best cursed idea you've had yet!" Niall spins the rise wheel into a blur. _Sleet_ lurches upward, lifting like a kite let go in a windstorm.

My stomach heaves. In a step I'm up on the rail. Ariya lets the sails billow out again, and we lurch toward the masts of the huge warship ahead of us. With the wind blowing as it is, we nose over the bowsprit of the enemy. I've never met this Doorward Strathern fellow, and now he has his cannons on me and issues threats. He has Vesna.

Blackguard.

"Captain! What are you doing?" Ariya's cry is shrill.

No time. I leap.

We're barely ten feet over their deck and rising. I land atop a sailor, shove off him into a roll. We tumble into another sailor. They have swords. I scramble to my feet and plant the pommel of my sword dead center on one's skull. The thud is reassuring. I kick and sweep the feet out from under the second sailor. His sword clatters to the deck.

There.

The deck between me and the ship's wheels is crowded with men. A scream cuts through their cacophony of shouting.

"Vesna!" I lunge at the nearest man. He's a soldier, this one, wearing chain mail and a cloak bearing the same red and black colors as the ship's pennants. Our blades clash and flash sunlight.

A fearsome bark snaps at me. Gridley barrels by, a smudge of black and wide against the browns of the sailors. He tears at clothing and wrestles with men brave enough to stand ground. Others flee before him.

My opponent strikes with his sword. I dodge the scimitar blade, thrust but he parries the blow. It's a sloppy move. We trade more, intensity increasing. His brow is drenched with sweat. His neck is beet red and his breathing labored. It's a miracle he can keep up a defense, given the stench of rum billowing from him.

One slip is all it takes. I feint a strike and when he dodges, I thrust home. The falchion's blade drives deep beneath his armpit, where the armor cracks and gives way like paper. His eyes go wide, white sclera, and he slides wordlessly off my blade.

No pausing to wipe off the blood.

Two men drag Vesna off. They're pulling at her. She slaps one and he punches her in the side.

Fury gives way to a cold so bitter I think my heart will stop. In this moment I care not about the source of magic, or whether it is a boon or a curse. I curl my hand at the one who hit her and let fly the incantation.

Blue light flashes across the distance. It's sudden and fierce, an explosion of ice. But I see not a coating on him, nor shards in the air. Only after the glow fades do I realize what's happened.

There's an icicle as long as my arm punched deep through the man's chest. He's pinned to the bulkhead.

Vesna and the other sailor stare at me. The sailor glances at her, and at me, before he bolts.

My arm is numb. It lies weakened at my side. I try to shake it awake but it responds not. My teeth grind together. One moment I unleash magic I never knew was possible for me to possess, the next my body will no obey my commands. Tell me now this is not a curse.

"Bowen!" Vesna clings to me. Our kiss is deep, passionate, and chases away the ice in my veins. Sounds around us dull beneath the roar of blood in my ears.

The boom of cannon fire interrupts.

Wood splinters explode near the bowsprit. I whirl around, shielding Vesna with my body from debris and my sword from all comers. But--who is attacking us?

The reason is clear. _Sleet_ wings her way over this ship's masts, covering the deck in a welcome shadow. One of the other ships, a sleek schooner that had hemmed us in--and has thus far avoided getting doused with dragon fire--has smoke rising from its cannons.

I grin. The fools. They tried to shoot _Sleet_ and struck their own flagship.

The young dragon sentinel swoops down on the offender and snaps off one of the portsails with its claws. He might as well be a child picking dandelions for all the effort it takes. The ship returns fire with cannons--or rather, tries to. The guns will not aim at such an angle, and the dragon is not foolish enough to tempt the gunners. Musketeers unload shot at him, but he veers from their sights.

What I need now is a way off this vessel.

Where is _Sleet_?

Off to the east, and banking swiftly to starboard. Come along, Niall, we cannot leap to Zadar from this height.

"Look out!" Vesna pulls me aside as a sword blade cleaves the air. Goodness knows where this soldier came from, flailing at me with a cutlass like his brethren hold, but he charges us with recklessness. The sword misses me by inches and chops wood from the bulkhead.

There's no time nor space in which to engage him in swordplay. He barrels in to me, shoves me against the rail.

These are the moments for which my dirk is meant.

I pull the dagger from its sheath on the back of my belt and bring the wide blade up into his stomach. Cloth rips and the blade makes a sickening, wet sound as it penetrates flesh. The soldier cries out in agony. I bend and twist, slipping him over the rail and plummeting to the sea. His cries fall from my hearing as a stone.

Up on the stern deck, a man I presume to be the captain hollers orders and brandishes a wheellock pistol. The helmsman spins his wheels like a dervish, and the ship groans its way sharply to port. It lurches as we rise higher into the air. I cannot help but pray the aethershard does not give out from too sudden a maneuver.

"Stay close. Niall and Ariya won't let us fall." I grip Vesna's hand tightly.

She nods. "What can I do?"

"Same as you would in a bar fight, my dear."

She takes a dagger from beneath her dress. It sparkles in the sun. Jewels cover its hilt. Where in the clear skies did she gain that? Never seen it.

Why did she not produce it until now?

No matter. I whistle sharp. Gridley unlatches his teeth from around a poor sailor's leg and bolts to our side. Now if only Niall were as fast--but _Sleet_ is still too far off, and too high up. Ariya could only get one of us off the deck, if she flew over.

The man in black and red lands on the deck before us. So this is the fiend, a lightning-summoner who would dare threaten Vesna. His eyes are a pale brown and his hair as black as his clothing, which is bordered in blood-red crimson. His right arm is encased in metal armor, from shoulder to fingers, and crackles with sparks. An orb inset in the arm pulses a glaring yellow.

"Bowen Cord." The voice is terse, carrying the heavy accent of a Northamber man, leaning on the consonants. "You insist on making things difficult."

None of the crew nor the soldiers pay us heed. They are quite preoccupied with the dragon roaring between the sails, shooting gouts of flame here and there. None of the fire has done more than smolder wood and cloth. He's not aiming to kill, apparently.

When Benath said he would keep an eye on us, I never figured a secret guardian into that promise.

I put myself between this Strathern, Doorward of some Northamber king to whom I owe no allegiance. "You'll not have her and you'll not have the relic you seek. I suggest you get used to the disappointment."

Strathern chuckles. "You think it will be thus? You have little faith in my abilities, and in yours, for that matter. I, on the other hand, have no misgivings about the power I wield."

He lets fly a bolt. I put up my hand, the one not holding a sword, and lash out with the ice. Not the slightest clue what form it will take.

Slivers of ice whirl at Strathern. His lightning obliterates most, but I'm satisfied that a handful of razor-thin, glittering slivers slash across his face and provoke an angry shout.

Satisfied, that is, until lightning strikes my sword.

It courses into my arm and my body with such force I'm blown into Vesna and the rail behind us. I may as well be a leaf for all the resistance I offer. Every muscle screams, every bone aches. Sound and pain throb in my ears.

I collapse to the deck. My sword is fallen next to me. Vesna kneels, one hand on the small of my back. I cannot make out her words but there's a double sense of comfort and warning. She has the dagger in place before us, for whatever meager defense that will offer against Strathern's handiwork.

"You are untrained, but not without gift," he says, advancing on us slowly. His gait suggests a summer's eve stroll with a lovely lass hanging from his arm. "There's no point to resisting my strength. Do you have any idea how long my master taught me these techniques? Years, Cord. Years spent isolated from anyone other than summoners. Years spent absorbing his every gesture, his every word, in hopes that one day I would take my place among the ranks of the summoners loyal to the king of Northamber."

I shake my head, meaning for it to be an act of vigorous defiance yet managing a slight jerk. "That's not the way it should be. Summoners are not to serve any earthly king."

Strathern scowls. "You sound like an idiot priest."

Gridley's hair is up. His growl builds with implied threat until he can take it no longer. He lunges at Strathern, teeth flashing. But Strathern interposes his armored arm between himself and my faithful companion. Gridley's teeth scrape on metal. A burst of blinding light and crack of thunder flings Gridley to the deck. He whimpers, but staggers onto his paws again. Patches of his hair smoke.

"Send word to your crew, Cord." Strathern's arm glows with lightning. I can feel its strength prickling across my skin, washing away the cold and melting the ice. Concentrate. I need the ice. I need it to counter Strathern, no matter the cost. "Heave to and surrender the relic. And the boy."

The boy. What use could they possibly have of Luc?

It strikes me thus: the same use I have had of him. He is the key to the relics. "No. Never."

Strathern sighs. He raises his hands and his lips work with words I do not understand--

And he does nothing.

At first I am certain the lightning has addled my mind. Strathern stands over us, arms outstretched, like a frozen golem. But soon I realize it's not only him. The other sailors are hunched and crouched solid, too. The sails are caught in mid-billow. The rigging is stuck halfway through a swing.

Everything is suffused with a silvery light, a strange transparent coating of--of nothing I have ever seen before.

"Bowen, what's happening?" Vesna's eyes are wide. "The ships--they've all stopped."

She's right. The ships of the Northamber fleet, some still ablaze, others firing their cannons, are all frozen in various maneuvers. That's when I see it: a seagull, twenty feet over our heads, wings stuck in the air in mid-flap.

The only sounds are the wind and a pounding beat. The dragon hovers over the stern deck, shaking the hull clear to the bow. "Man-worm! You and your mate and your beast must flee!"

"A fine idea." Vesna helps me to my feet. Gridley manages his encounter with Strathern's lightning better than I. He stays near us as we hurry up stairs to the stern deck, passing by the stock-still helmsman and his captain. Spittle hovers in a tiny spray from the captain's wide open mouth.

_Sleet_ sails into view, a hundred feet off the stern of this warship. She alone is moving.

Luc is on the deck, with the Bloodheart held high in his hands. Subtle waves of silver light ripple outward, as circles from a stone tossed into pond.

_He_ has done this?

The dragon clutches Gridley in one large clawed hand, and reaches likewise for me and Vesna. Rough scaly skin squeezes us together. Metal presses painfully to my side--Vesna retrieved my sword, apparently. I shake the confusion from my mind.

In an instant the dragon wings us from the deck of the warship and deposits us on _Sleet_. I have never been more grateful to feel that familiar sway of the deck beneath my feet, or the whisper of those sails over my head.

"Niall! Get us from here with haste!" Ariya kneels beside me, her expression sour with worry. "Captain, you're injured."

I wave her away as one shoos a fly. "No, no, see to Gridley. I'm well enough."

The dragon snorts, letting out a puff of smoke. "Well enough for crisp worm. You have courage, but not much smarts."

"I shall take the half-compliment."

_Sleet_ turns away and up from the frozen tableau. The warships hang in the air, icicles on the edge of the barn roof in the dead of winter. Yet ships around them and elsewhere near Zadar move unhindered.

Luc shudders and sags. His arms droop. The Bloodheart stops its silver pulses.

The ships, now a mile or more off, snap into motion. But they're hopelessly positioned to do anything but avoid collisions with each other. One of the smaller ones, still flaming with dragon fire, bounces off the hull of another. Faint cracking of wood and shouts of alarm drift to us on the winds.

We slice through the clouds. Finally. Safe.

I limp to the stern under my own power, Vesna alongside. Ariya flies up and over to the dragon, speaking to him about what I have no idea.

"Well, Captain! Decent of you to return." Niall grins. Arm muscles bulge as he handles both wheels with aplomb. "We took care of your ship for you in your absence. Though Ariya insisted we leave without you."

"That is not so!" she shouts from far off. "It was you who said it, you hairy oaf!"

"It was. But only in jest." Niall winks. "Vesna, glad you could come along on our little jaunt."

She smiles, shakily, and puts her arms around me. "My travel options were limited."

"They were indeed." I lift her chin and give her a kiss. "We're safe now."

"Thank you, Bowen. For coming for me."

"Was it true? What Strathern said?"

Vesna's smile falters. "Let's not speak of it now."

Niall coughs loudly.

"Niall. Nicely done. But I'll not kiss you." I wave a hand behind me. "What about the dragon?"

"What about him?" Niall scowls. "Spraying fire about like cheap whiskey. Dunce could have burned us all down. I've no idea whence he came, Bowen, nor how he's been following us."

We break through the patch of clouds and keep rising. Zadar lies far below us and at our backs. Smoke rises in inky black fingers from the warships. The tightness in my chest fades, and I breathe deep the cool air.

Ariya flits to a landing behind Niall. "His name is Tereth, a dragon ranger. Benath assigned him the honor of being our shadow."

"Benath said he'd keep his eyes upon us. Well, I'll not say nay to a helping hand--or flame, in this instance."

Luc sits cross-legged on the deck, cradling the Bloodheart. He looks tired enough to sleep, eyelids drooping and body relaxed. The Bloodheart pulses in the same way that guided us east from the Atlan Reach and Cloud Reef. Our stopover in Zadar was to be but a brief resupply.

I glance over my shoulder at Vesna, whom Ariya takes below. We exchange smiles. Mine is forced. It cannot be bad luck that this Strathern and his forces were lying in wait for our return when only one person knew for certain we were coming back.

Gridley paces and whines. I scratch his neck, avoiding the sore patches of fur. "You did a fine job, too, boy."

He favors me with an aloof, _Of course I did. You expected less?_

"I'm glad you're safe, Captain," Luc says.

I join him, folding my legs underneath and sitting on the deck. "What was that, Luc? What did you do?"

He shrugs. "We had to save you. I begged for help."

"You did not freeze all of them?"

"No. I asked for help." He looks at me as if he's speaking to an even smaller child. "The Bloodheart answered."

# THE TWENTY-FIRST CHAPTER

~

### Strathern

I'll kill them all.

When I next meet them, it will be slow torture and agonizing death that greets them. I've been far too lenient. Bowen Cord will revel in the sight of the woman he loves abused, ruined, and slain before his eyes. He will exult in the spectacle of his crew torn open and fed to dire-wolves. He'll relish the sounds of his mongrel being roasted alive.

"Sire," my lieutenant says. "Are you well?"

Gah! I strike the idiot with such force that he's flung six feet to the nearest bulkhead. The ring of my hand against his chest armor bangs across the deck as gunfire.

"Moor the ships!" I scream. "Continue evacuation of _Vigil_ and _Rattler_. Get the hulls into the water and salvage munitions, supplies and don't forget the aethershards! Move your carcasses!"

Sailors and soldiers scurry to obey my orders, moving as swiftly as if they were my next intended targets--which they very well may be.

My lieutenant picks himself up and, without so much as a grimace, returns to my side. Well. If it's an apology he awaits it'll come when I run out of lightning.

"Sire." Captain Hamish stands a good distance off, here on the quarterdeck of _Inexorable_. Or perhaps I should rechristen her _Useless_ for all the good she did me against a dragon. "With my urging the crew can have the ship ready for pursuit in six hours."

Six hours. _Six hours._ Left unspoken is how long it will take to repair the other ships. Neither _Vigil_ nor _Rattler_ can do me any good at this point. Their masts are splintered, their sails are blackened, and the crew not slain by that Aevorn harpy are engaged in frantic efforts to repair their ships. That leaves me with _Cobra_ and _Encampment_. They are fast but they won't be able to catch _Sleet_. Not with the head start they have.

And I won't trust Cord's capture to anyone else.

"Sire. The woman, Vesna Juric, is gone," my lieutenant says.

"Thank you for the statement of the obvious."

"We will not be able to hold her as leverage on Captain Cord and his crew."

I grind my teeth together, imagining lightning bolts shooting through his chest. "Your point being?"

"What are your orders, sire, regarding our pursuit?"

I fume for a spell, drumming my fingers on the rail. Below, Kolovare's is a hive of activity with ships' crews and local merchants milling about. A smile dances across my lips. "We must be thorough in our questioning, Lieutenant. "But first I have new arrangements to make."

~

The man screams in agony as lightning scalds his chest.

Man is a misnomer. He can't be more than sixteen. But he was listed among the crew of a lateen-rigged cloudship from Kent's Roost, a Northamber port, and thus liable to render assistance to the Crown where he must.

I ease off on the lightning. He's a slender lad, bony-chested, not three hairs on his chin or lip. Stripped to the waist of his tunic and barefoot, he looks more like he's ready for a brisk ocean swim. He gasps for breath, eyes glassy and unfocused.

I let him recover. We're in one of the back rooms at Kolovare's, a plain space of wooden walls and stone floor containing shelves of boxes and jars. The smell of pickled fish and salted meats pervades so that I'll need to wash my garments when we're through. It's cool enough here steam rises from the boy's flesh. The only light comes from a pair of small windows inset in the wall, just below the ceiling, to my right.

My staying as far out of the light as possible is designed to increase his discomfort.

"You say you overheard Captain Bowen Cord talking with the owner of Kolovare's. What did they say? And do not feed me a falsehood as you first did. You feel now the reward for untruthfulness."

He nods, quickly, a bird bobbing his head. His voice is patchy and uneven as a poorly raked road. "They did. They were. That is, I heard them say a word. A name. Didn't know it myself, but I figured it for somewhere foreign..."

I nod. "Tell me."

"It sounded like Jassnah...or Yassna? Yassna gorra? Is that far off?"

"It is." My pulse quickens. Jasna Gora, is it? The great library. The sanctuary of the Most High. The fortress of... well, potential complications, let me state it thus.

"Think, and think well, boy." I lean in close, and hold my index finger and thumb of my metal hand close to his cheek. Tiny bolts jump between the fingers. "Why was Cord going there?"

"He...he wasn't going. He was coming." The boy's speech quickens, his face pales, his breathing accelerates. "I...that is, he said he'd been there."

"Before Zadar."

The boy nods vigorously enough to shake the chair. I can smell his hope. The stench will not leave the room. Unfortunately, neither will he.

I stretch out my hand and unleash hell.

Lightning plays out across his body, bolts entwining his arms and his legs, encircling his waist. His screams are drowned out by the crack and thunder, the snap-hiss of the lightning as it jumps from place to place. The surge of power is enthralling. My heart races, and my senses scream for more.

More.

With both hands I become a channel for the magic flowing through me. Darkness presses in around my vision. In the darkness I sense shapes moving. Beings? Shadows?

The boy stops screaming. His body, charred black and red, sags against the chair.

I stop. My ears feel stuffed with cotton from the raging noise that assaulted them. No longer do I have to worry of smelling hope. Now, there is only death, the sickly-sweet aroma of burned human flesh. It is nauseating, but I suppress the urge to retch.

Do not mistake my reaction for fear or sorrow. It is involuntary, like blinking. It always makes me sick, killing with my lighting. Yet I also crave it. Summon, if you will, the anticipation and exhilaration of bringing to bed the most beautiful woman you have ever desired.

This is more.

The door bangs against the hallway wall when I storm out. Anguished yells come muffled through the door toward the front of Kolovare's, on the opposite side of the corridor. Those yells falter into choking gasps, and die. There's a pause. I wait. Impatiently.

My lieutenant emerges. He wipes blood from a dagger with S-curved blade onto his cloak. "Sire. We have determined Bowen Cord was recently arrived from Jasna Gora, and has an old acquaintance there. A priest."

That's even worse than him just having visited the soulmages. "So I confirmed from my interview. Very good. I trust your informant will not divulge anything to anyone else who may ask?"

The lieutenant stares blankly. He slips the dagger into a sheath on his belt and lets his cloak fall to over it. "No, sire."

"Good. Very good. As soon as _Inexorable_ is ready we make for Jasna Gora with _Encampment_ and _Cobra_. Leave the other ships here for repairs with whatever laborers you can muster."

"Yes, sire."

I march down the hall, boots hammering echoes.

"Sire? What orders do you have regarding Kolovare's?"

I stop at the threshold to the front of the establishment. It is empty, and quiet. A handful of my soldiers guard the door. "Specify."

"Vesna Juric will likely return. This will be a place that has seen violence on behalf of the Kingdom of Northamber."

"A symbol of resilience in the face of danger?"

"Yes, sire."

I nod. A valid point. "Bomb it. With incendiaries. I will oversee it personally."

~

We're on the deck of _Inexorable_. The repairs have taken a dragon's age to finish, but with some fine application of the lash by Captain Hamish, we are casting off an hour ahead of the estimate. We hover three hundred feet over Kolovare's, rising slowly with the two ships of my fleet that are able to move. More ships will join us. I have seen to it.

"You may commence, Captain," I say.

Captain Hamish nods. He turns aside and hollers, "Commence with bombing!"

"Aye, sir, commencing bombing!" More shouts echo the first, muffled through the deck beneath our feet. Gears turn, clinking and clanking metal. Wood scrapes on wood as hatches open on the gun deck. The stubby ends of ramps poke from those ports--one, two, three, four. Without looking I know there are four more on the port side, doing the same. Their motions reverberate through my feet.

Then comes the best part. Iron rolls roughly on wooden ramps. In unison, four black bombs, fuses sparking and sputtering, tumble from the ramps below us. Four more do so from behind. After five seconds, another set of eight. Five more seconds, then another eight.

It looks like snow. Only black. Makes me think of ashes. Like the ashes of our farm when it was burnt to the ground by the soldiers. My siblings, dead. My parents, slain.

Yet my heart is scalded by lightning, and does not respond to the memory. Not once does it give succor to the sobbing child in my mind's eye.

Pity.

Explosions ripple across the roof of Kolovare's. The booms of the blast reach us a blink later. Flames and smoke belch from the building. More explosions follow as the next wave of bombs hit, then more still. Walls collapse. Roofs cave in.

On it goes, bombs dropping in eights, until we have loosed forty. I raise my metal hand as the last eight go over.

"Cease bombing!" Captain Hamish shouts.

Answering cries sing a chorus. The ramps retract. The hatches thunk closed.

Silence. Up here.

Down below you can hear the flames crackling, the explosions continuing, the shouts and clanging of temple bells. Tiny shapes rush to and fro, ants scurrying to save their hills. Kolovare's is a blazing ruin and nothing will stop its demise. Nearby buildings are catching.

So. These vermin will know Northamber's power, and they will remember.

"We are fortunate Zadar is unaligned, and has no noble to protect it." My lieutenant shifts his stance.

"They will be ours," I whisper. "As will all. Whether they bow to themselves or a king, they will yield to our fist. To our lightning."

"Yes, sire."

I turn to Hamish. "Captain. Set your course for Jasna Gora and the great library."

His eyes widen, but there's a sharp nod, and an "Aye, sire."

Soon we're underway north. Soon we'll face the priests there. I wrestle with a strange feeling. I do not recognize it, and it causes me great vexation. Until I finally define it.

Fear.

I head below decks. The crew shies from me as rats from a torch. I pay them no need.

Before me is Jix's cage. It is empty.

I smile. Some, but not all, of that fear fades. Jix will return, as he always does.

For now, he can stalk my enemies.

# THE TWENTY-SECOND CHAPTER

~

### Bowen

WE RUSH HEADLONG FROM ZADAR for four days without pause or rest. The threat of death from Strathern and his minions is behind us.

But the Bloodheart cannot be ignored. It flashes relentlessly, and I stay welded to the ship's wheels, responding to every gesture from Luc. He watches the Bloodheart without ceasing and in turn guides me on the proper course.

Niall and I take shifts at the wheels, and Ariya stays on constant watch for pursuers. Vesna helps where she can, proving adept at watching the winds for poor weather and shifts in the currents. My heart aches for what she must be feeling, having left her beloved Kolovare's behind. None of us has rested.

Finally, Niall's and Ariya's bickering--coupled with our need to resupply the fresh water casks--forces us to make landfall.

There's a gurgling stream tucked amidst the Kavkaz Mountains, high in the Riven Plains of Rus. Vesna spots it, and Ariya confirms the lack of habitation with one quick dive to survey the area. I have no qualms about secreting _Sleet_ in the ravine, even though it fits as tight as a corset. The islets crowding the sky overhead are barren of vegetation, and offer no place to hide.

Tereth, the young dragon ranger who so handily saved our collective posteriors at Zadar, curls beneath the pines on the other side of the stream. He has not shied from our side these past four days, and even a "man-worm" as he'd no doubt reference me can see the exhaustion in the way he droops his head against folded claws. He drapes his wings over his body and closes his eyes.

"This is madness." Niall tugs on the last of the lines lashing us to trees. His muscles bulge with the strain and he swears mightily. "Bowen, I told you we should have sold off that foul relic and been done with it."

"Niall, take ease. We're--"

"But no. Not Bowen Cord!" He sneers at me, sharp teeth showing. "You'll not be satisfied with merely handing over the bauble for silver or, heavens forbid, gold. You want to be the righteous one. The man who does what is true and pure of heart."

"What would you have me do?" I snap, knowing full well the answer.

Niall growls. He scoops up a rock from at his feet, an ugly black and brown lump, and hurls it. It sails in a long arc before it splashes dead center in the stream, so far off to the south it's a mere sputter of water. "That! Throw the cursed thing away! Be rid of it, once and for all."

"Then what?" I'm right before him, toe to toe, glaring up into his face. I poke him in the chest. "We go back to Zadar and tell Strathern, 'Terribly sorry, but we rid ourselves of the relic you wanted'? I'm sure he'll be pleased to find his way here and pick it out of the mud. Face it, Niall. There is no turning aside. There are larger forces than our pecuniary interests at work. Why else would Northamber's king send his best man and five warships to corner us?"

"Yes. Why else?" Niall pushes me away, into a stagger. He's never hit me before. But we're perilously close to that edge. I know the feeling. Niall turns instead to Vesna, who stands beneath _Sleet_ 's bowsprit. Her arms are clasped about each other, as if to hold herself in one piece. "You've not told us, dear Vesna Juric, how Strathern happened to be there awaiting us."

Vesna shifts her stance. "I...there's nothing to say."

I confess. This is the conversation I've avoided since we left Zadar. There are answers which are too painful for a man to hear, especially from the woman he loves.

Loves? Once again I see my beloved before me, the warmth of the fire setting her face aglow. My heart is tearing itself to bits. My crew. My ship. My love.

Loves?

"Bowen?" She's staring at me, pleading. My expression must have changed--my face feels solid as stone. "You must believe me. I had nothing to do--"

"Vesna. Tell me the truth."

"Bowen..."

"Tell. Me. The. Truth." Every word is a hammered nail.

The softness flees from her face. In its place is the toughness, the cool calculation, the real Vesna I know so well. "He came to me not long after you left. Offered me a sizeable pouch of silver, and a jeweled dagger, to inform on you."

The dagger. The one she drew during our fight aboard the Northamber flagship. My hands clench to fists.

"A bag of silver," Niall says. "I could've guess that was your price, whore."

I slug my fist across his jaw.

He topples to the ground. From high above comes Ariya's shout, like a screeching eagle. I pay it no mind, for I've already drawn my wheellock pistol.

Niall scrambles to his feet, hand going for his katana, and his fingers freeze there on the hilt because the muzzle of the pistol is pressed to his forehead.

"Apologize to the lady," I say.

"Dammit, Bowen." His response is a low, deadly grumble.

Gridley dashes between us, barking. He snaps at me. _What vexes you two?_

"Bowen, please don't!" Vesna grabs my arm, the one not holding a gun to my friend's head.

I shake her off, hard enough to draw a gasp. "Pipe down. Where is the silver, Vesna?"

"Bowen...You know I would never..."

"No more games! Where is the silver? Give it to me now!"

"I don't have it!" She matches my shout loudness for loudness. Her eyes well with tears. She slaps me so hard it's a good thing my finger is off the trigger, for my gun hand jerks.

Niall swears. But stays still as a statue.

"As far as I know that cursed bag of silver is still on the bar at Kolovare's, at my home that I gave up!" Vesna yells. "I told Strathern nothing of where you went, only that you would return. And then I risked my life to send you a warning note. He intercepted it, the fiend, and that's why you saw me dangling off the edge of his ship instead of enjoying rum in his quarters!"

My mind races. The ice freezes all else out, consuming my body.

"Heaven's edge, Bowen," Niall whispers.

I'm still staring him down. But his defiance has morphed into fear. Because both my hands glow blue, each as bright as a torch. Frost creeps down the stock and barrel of the pistol.

"I have to believe you," I say to Vesna. "Because that is the only choice that will keep me from tearing us all apart. Because I care for you so much any other possibility would doom us all."

"You forgive me, then?"

I glower at her.

She storms away, skirt swirling about her in vivid mimicry of her anger and despair.

"I'm ... sorry?" Niall cocks his head.

Dolt.

"Can you remove that thing from my face before I have to gut you?"

I look down. He's got his sword out of his scabbard. Never heard it make a sound. One thrust and my innards would be out on the ground.

A whoosh of air blows over us. Ariya lands at an angle to us. She shakes her head. "Are you two quite through? Because if you kill each other--or I must knock you senseless--I will have to pilot the ship on my own. And that will make me upset."

I withdraw my gun, and offer Niall a hand. The glow has faded to a dull stain at the palm. Niall frowns, then accepts. We stand face to face again. "I am sorry," he says.

"For what it's worth, you may be right about selling the relic."

Niall sighs. "A bit late in the day."

"It is that."

The three of us stand there, silent. We look across the river at Tereth, snoozing away, oblivious to all that transpires.

"A cursed _dragon_." Niall grins. "I must say it's worth all this wreck just to see those blighters get their sails torched."

"An action I would not have to take if you had been more cautious, were-fox." Tereth's voice rumbles across the stream. He opens one eye. "I was tasked with your safety, and that of the relic. Most especially I guard the keeper. I'll not watch my work be undone by your bickering."

So much for oblivious. Niall rolls his eyes.

"Do not mock the dragon," Ariya says. "We would be wise to heed his advice."

"Yes," Tereth says. "Because there are few large fish around here with which I can sate my hunger."

Well. "I think I shall talk with Vesna."

"Step easy, Captain. She is hurt." Ariya spreads her wings.

"She betrayed me. Us."

"She did. And she paid a steep price. Should you not extend her your arms instead of your fist?"

I frown. "How in blazes do you know what she feels?"

Ariya smirks at us and shakes her head. "I may have wings, Captain, but I am still a woman."

She swoops off at speed, leaving us coughing dust. Niall's got a big grin on his face.

Right.

"Captain?" Luc walks toward us with all the care of a child picking daisies in a field. And in addition to his bag, he does have a cluster of flowers--dandelions, rather--in his hand. He spins them around and around. I can smell their milk from here. "Are you well?"

I glance at Niall. He nods. "Yes, quite well," I tell Luc.

He frowns at us both. "You don't have to lie to me. Even though I'm a child."

"Very well." I rub at my forehead, trying to push the headache out. "Niall and I were fighting. And I fought with Vesna. We're arguing about the Bloodheart."

"Oh." Luc considers the bag. "It brings death with it."

"So it seems."

"How many died when we were at Zadar?"

"I don't know, lad." The headache worsens. "Why must you pester me with such questions? It matters not if they're dead. Only that we live."

Luc frowns. "They all matter. Every soul. My father told me so."

I bite back the words I would unleash up that idiot man. "What do you want elsewise? I thought I told you to remain near the ship."

"Oh. I'm going to tell Tereth that it's flashing a lot more now. The Bloodheart is."

Niall tenses.

"A lot more--how so?" I kneel beside Luc.

"Where's Gridley? And Ariya." He looks downstream.

"Ariya is on patrol. Gridley's run off to the water." I point, which seems to satisfy Luc.

He waves at Gridley, who favors him with an energetic bark before splashing through the water. "Oh, good. We can leave when Ariya returns."

"Leave?" Niall throws up his hands. "We just got here! Haven't had but an hour to cool our heels!"

"Luc. Show me the Bloodheart," I say.

He pulls it from the bag, and I suck breath through my teeth. It's flashing rapidly, as fast as a man's heart as he runs. The pulses are bright, insistent.

"We must be near," Niall whispers.

The sound like canvas unfolding and flapping in the wind draws our gaze across the stream. Tereth pulls himself up on his haunches, his flanks sleek with sunlight. He looks well rested. "It must be close."

"I think I just said that."

"Silence, man-worm." Tereth steps across the stream, his claws digging furrows in the dirt and churning up the mud underwater. The stream turns brown. "Keeper Luc. Lead us to the Everflame."

"I will try." Luc smiles at me. "We should fly again, Captain."

My body is so weary. But the pull of the Bloodheart is irresistible. "Niall. Call Ariya. We'll prepare the ship."

"But we've only just arrived--"

I glare at him.

He grinds his teeth, and stomps off into the woods.

I turn to Tereth. "What is this Everflame?"

"The final element of the Bloodheart. None have seen it before and lived."

"Not even dragons?"

Tereth shakes his head.

"So I repeat myself--what is the Everflame?"

"I have no idea, man-worm."

I sigh. All of this, and still no silver. Evan would tell me it is for a higher purpose. That is what I keep whispering to myself.

Still, I can't help but wish I'd taken Niall's advice.

# THE TWENTY-THIRD CHAPTER

~

The farther we follow the Bloodheart, the more agitated Gridley becomes.

He's unwilling to be petted even by me or Luc. From bow to stern he paces, sniffing the deck and the rails and the masts. What he pursues I know not. It's been a long time since we've had rats aboard for him to hunt. He made short work of their incursion.

I chalk it up to the Bloodheart's presence. It pulses so rapidly as to seem atremble. The light is brighter than the North Star, a brilliant, pure white. Luc keeps it confined to his bag, save to take glimpses as we correct our bearings.

Gridley stays far from the Bloodheart.

We're out in the center of the Riven Plains of Rus. Four thousand feet below us are great ravines, long furrows cut in the ground. Benath could curl up easily in their depths and be lost forever. Hovering over these slashes are hundreds of islets and a handful of larger islands. My chart tells me seven hundred seventeen have been mapped. They hang as low to the ground as a few hundred feet, and soar as high as ten, twelve, even twenty thousand feet above us in a great cloud of rock. The sky glitters green with their aethershards.

The sun dips below the horizon. White wisps of cloud turn a startling pink, glowing like embers in the hearth. The sky is a sharp blue that makes the eyes stare in wonder. It will be dark soon.

The Bloodheart guides us, by our trial and error following its cues, to a long, wide island flat as a pan. It is thick with grass, but bears no trees. Three arches of crumbling stone sag over a stream.

A stream?

"How is that possible?" Niall glares over the rail as we circle round the island. There's no dock, no sign of any manmade structure save for the arches.

"It could be an aquastone." Ariya flits between the masts, checking the rigging.

"Those are mythical."

"Hardly. The Aevorn have a prized few."

"Is that so?" Niall sneers. "Why have you never mentioned them before?"

Ariya scowls at him. "To keep them safe from slavering dogs such as you."

"Such sharp words from a pretty mouth."

"Not so sharp as my arrows."

"Stow it, you lot. Ariya, explain, please."

She points at the stream. "The aquastones summon water from air, though none say how they achieve this magic. Legend has it they were entrusted to the Aevorn and their ancestors, the Saryava. Some tell of a huge stone given as a gift from ancient dragons, one the size of _Sleet_ that was shattered and shared. Others speak of small crystals formed on frozen isles high above the clouds, near the very edge of the sky. No one knows but one thing: they work."

There is ample evidence of this, as I watch the water cascade across the isle below. I cup my hands to my mouth. "Tereth! Is there any cause for alarm you can sense?"

He is flying fifty feet off, and my shout echoes across the wind to him. He snorts smoke. "None that I smell. But the magic here clouds my senses."

I nod. The ice tingles up and down my arms, pinching at my skin. The air breathes magic. It is as palpable as a coming rain.

There's ruins scattered among the grass, great lumps of granite and shale. Here I make out the sunken outline of a barn's foundation; there, the overgrown grid of a barracks. The stone is weather-beaten, stained with moss, broken and collapsed everywhere I look. My chart has no name for the place, nor a hint of how ancient a settlement this was.

At the north end of the island is a towering stack of white granite, glinting like a dragon's fang, shaded pink and orange with the sunset. This is the origin of the bubbling stream that carves the island in two, twisting its way through the grass, before the water plunges into a misty haze over the edge. "Ariya! Tie us there!"

"Aye, Captain." She's gone in a flash of feathers, with Tereth swooping in behind her. He takes up a watch to the east as _Sleet_ soars in by the rocks. Niall tosses Ariya the lines, and she tethers us to sturdy outcroppings of granite.

Vesna emerges from my cabin. She hasn't said a word to me since we left the clearing. We share a look. I can see her pain plainly. Does she see the frustration and anger burning in me?

Trust is broken.

We disembark, our little band--myself at the lead, sword and gun holstered; Niall flanking me, musket bared; Ariya flying overhead, crossbow ready to strike; Vesna a half step behind me and to the left, no weapon on hand but her dagger secreted away in the folds of her skirt; Luc by my left hand, carrying the Bloodheart in his bag; and Gridley trotting ahead, whining and sniffing, alert as ever yet still bothered by something.

"Steady, Gridley." I snap my fingers at him. He knows this sign. He's to heed to my beckon.

Instead he barks, and bolts to the ship.

"Gridley! Here, boy!"

Niall puts his musket over his shoulder. "What's got into him?"

"I don't know." Gridley bounds up the gangplank onto the deck. "But he'll be fine aboard. Come on. I'm in no mood for distractions."

Luc watches the Bloodheart. Its flickering light makes his face pale, as the night sky encroaches around us and blues fade to violet. He stumbles over rocks every few feet, so intent is he on its signals.

He pauses by the stream. It is wide, and deep, large enough to conceal Tereth if he were to sleep in its depths. I can make glimpses of large, smooth stones at the bottom and gaping black spaces. Caverns? Or illusions the shadows under the surface play in the darkness?

I shake my head. All this water, summoned by the aquastone concealed in the stack of granite. A dull purple light suffuses that end of the stream, marking the stone's resting place.

"It's here." Luc points at the water.

"Here? Where?"

"Here." He raises an eyebrow. "Can't you tell?"

Luc opens the bag. The Bloodheart shines like one of the stars glittering overhead in the velvet black sky. "Right in the stream."

Niall snorts. "That doesn't make a lick of sense."

"Be quiet." I kneel by the water. It's cold to the touch, numbing the sensation of ice prickles in my fingers. I can't see beneath its surface anymore. Darkness has fallen. Even the pale glow of the Bloodheart is not enough to reveal its secrets.

"There is something down there." Tereth sniffs. "I sense it. Powerful. The Bloodheart is the key to finding it. This is what Benath said."

"Thank you, very helpful." But his words give a fresh breath of air to my sails. "Luc, stretch out your arms and hold the Bloodheart over the stream."

He does so, without question. The Bloodheart's reflection shimmers on the water, writhing with the current.

Another glow from the streambed appears.

Ariya murmurs a soft prayer. Niall, of course, readies his musket.

I put my nose close to the water. It's a ring of sigils, their number and meaning distorted by the stream. They form a small circle, and illuminate a concavity at the center. The sigils pulse with a brilliant gold glow.

Luc gasps. The Bloodheart's colors shift from blazing white to the same brilliant gold as the sigils in the river.

"A key, indeed." I smile and clasp Luc on the shoulder. "Now we must get it to the lock."

"Are you planning on taking a swim?" Niall asks.

I've already pulled off my cloak and tug at the hem of my tunic. "I don't see another way."

"You have no idea what's down there." Vesna's voice catches me by surprise. "Whether it's safe or not."

"Your concern is touching."

"Don't talk to me like that, Bowen." She puts her hands on her hips. "You'll endanger us all if you risk opening that lock or whatever it is. You're the most skilled at the helm."

A valid point. But Ariya cannot swim. And Niall is not very good. Tereth is too big, too ungainly...

"I can swim down there." Luc smiles.

"No, lad, we must keep you safe too. Vesna is right--we don't know what's in the depths."

"Considering the last time we descended to find a relic we unleashed a golem, I'm not getting my fur wet for this thing," Niall says.

"Bowen." Vesna points to the stack of rocks. "The aquastone produces the stream."

"Yes. So?"

"Can we not make it stop somehow?" She directs this question to Ariya. "Surely you know of a way."

Ariya frowns. "I do not know of a way, I am sorry. Only the mages of our flocks know the secrets, and there are too few of them spread too far."

"Forget it. I will go." I unbuckle my belt, and set wheellock pistol, sword and dagger in the grass. I yank off my tunic. The cold air bites at me.

Cold.

I shake my head. "What a dunce I am."

"No arguments, Captain."

"How kind. Spread out and give me room. Luc..." I look him in the eyes. "You must get down there and put the Bloodheart in the lock. You'll know when."

He nods, stolid as an armored soldier.

I stretch out my hands toward the water, and close my eyes. Picture the stream flowing. Now picture what I want to change, and will it to happen.

I have never used the ice as anything other than a weapon, or as a tool against an enemy, not since Cassia died. Would she have me carry on as such, wielding this power as a blight? What I need now is to summon without malice, without fear, with only the pure intents of keeping Luc safe and reuniting the pieces of the Bloodheart.

If Evan is right, if magic serves both for good and ill, I pray it is the former in this moment.

" _Glacii_ ," I whisper.

The blue glow returns to my fingers. It caresses the water, threading amongst liquid, changing the temperature, making it frigid, expanding it in its banks--

Freezing it.

Tereth's growl rumbles the dirt. The burble of the stream subsides to a trickle between stones. I open my eyes. Where my hands are aimed the water has frozen into a ragged wall of ice, fifteen feet tall and twenty feet across. Behind that, extending toward the aquastone, ice crackles as the water continues to freeze up. In front of the wall, the water has receded.

Run off the edge of the island into thin air.

Luc's boots scrape on rock and slip on mud. He's down in the bottom of the stream, his face taut in the golden glow. The ring of sigils pulses ever brighter as he approaches. He stops at the edge, puzzles over the sight of it. The glow bathes him.

"Luc!" My arms tremble. The muscles shake. Blue creeps its way up to the elbows. Frost sheathes them, and I lose all sensation in my hands. The magic courses through me, up in to me, out of me. My mind is abuzz. "Do it quickly!"

He kneels and places the Bloodheart firmly in the center of the sigils. It makes a solid clink on rock.

Fire bursts into the night sky.

I catch a shout of surprise from Luc that is lost immediately in the roar of flames. Red and gold, orange and yellow, they shoot up hundreds of feet, towering over us, illuminating the plain of the island around us as clear as daybreak. Niall yells something but I cannot hear him. Beneath the roar of the flames comes a terrible shaking, that vibrates rock and soil and sets my bones trembling.

My legs weaken. Cold crystalizes my body, piercing flesh, stabbing bone.

A pair of hot hands catch me about the middle, blistering against my skin. They help me stand. I can hold the ice no longer. I yield with a gasp.

The blue glow shuts down. Ice buckles and strains against the pressure of water around it, until the dam I've erected shatters in a thousand pieces. The stream shoves its way through, barreling toward the tower of flame.

The torrent splits in half and curves around either side.

I blink, eyes bleary. No. The entire tower is _not_ aflame, not any longer. I'm staring at fifty feet of white rock, the same as the stack, with fire shooting off the top. The water courses around the stone, churning and frothing, towards its inevitable plunge.

Where is Luc?

The hands that held my sides move to my shoulders. A kiss as searing as a branding iron touches my skin.

"Bowen. You cried out for help." Vesna. She has tears in her eyes. They gleam blue in the light of the fire tower. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Spent." Those two words cost a great deal of strength. My hands are still a pale blue, brighter at the palms, the color slowly returning at the finger tips. "Leave me be."

"You need tending to. I have to make sure you're not in danger."

"Don't touch me. Not...not when I'm like this."

"Bowen." She whispers my name. "It matters not whether you are all flesh or a block of ice. I won't let anything happen to you."

Yet she has that dagger from Strathern. I want to believe her, more than anything. Still, I release myself from her ministrations.

She crosses her arms, and says not another word.

I am sorry, Vesna.

Ariya circles the tower at a safe distance, her wings transformed golden in the firelight. She points. "I see him! I see Luc!"

Alive or dead, I have no time to ask her the question. A silhouette of a young boy's shape appears in the flame. Luc steps out of the fire with that smile present.

He's not even singed. 

# THE TWENTY-FOURTH CHAPTER

~

ARIYA LIFTS HIM FREE OF the rock spire and brings him to a gentle landing before our group. Thank heavens the boy is uninjured. I slip on my tunic and cloak, don my belt of weaponry. Even Niall gives him a curt nod and a pat on the shoulders.

Tereth stays back from the pillar. Far back. He shields his body with his wings, and sits low in crouch with his head arched. Those huge eyes watch our group, wary.

"Luc." I give the boy a hug. Surprising. He returns it gently. "You had me frightened, lad."

He shakes his head. "Stop fearing. That's what Father told me."

"How did you escape unscathed?"

"I don't know. I held the Bloodheart close, and it felt cool. Like a breeze through the apple trees at home. I could smell them, and see the blossoms. It was easy to walk through the flames. They were--not real."

"They appear plenty real to me," Niall says. "So what of the third part of the relic?"

"That is it." Luc faces the pillar. "That is the Everflame."

He holds the Bloodheart over his head. The flames atop the pillar hiss and snap. They swirl faster, blurring together into a whirlwind, the heat of which soaks us with sweat. With a great thunderclap the flames leap outward in four blazing arms and strike at the Bloodheart.

Luc staggers under the impact, his eyes wide and mouth open. Heat bowls over us. Grass underfoot withers. Still the flames pour into the Bloodheart, until the last tendril of fire strips itself from the rocky pillar.

The deluge disappears. The pillar is bare, pale blue in the night. The air is still, but remains hot as on a late summer's evening.

The Bloodheart glows crimson.Luc is transfixed by it.

"Lad." I give him a shake. "Are you well?"

He nods, but doesn't speak.

"This is powerful magic that you worms should not have touched," Tereth says. "We must proceed cautiously."

Niall pats his musket. "That was the intent."

"Don't mock me, were-fox." Tereth moves in closer to us, watching the Bloodheart and Luc as if he's stalking supper. "We must not tarry here."

"Calm yourself, dragon." I shake Luc again. "What's wrong?"

He gazes at me. His eyes have lost their focus, and his expression is blank. "We're in danger. It's hiding. Waiting for us."

"Waiting?" My heart freezes up. "Waiting where?"

Gridley howls. The sound echoes across the plain, from the ship.

And answering him comes a horrific shriek.

Niall aims his musket. "What was that?"

"Come on!" I sprint toward _Sleet_ , wheellock pistol at the ready. "Ariya!"

She swoops out ahead. Tereth roars and surges into the air with a great gust of his wings. Our boots thud across the grass, our cloaks flying behind us.

We're fifty feet from _Sleet_ when Gridley is thrown over the ship's rail.

His body hits the grass and rolls, black and white fur tumbling. He slides to a halt near Vesna. She skids onto her knees, cradles his body.

Her hand comes away slick with red.

The beast appears at the edge of the ship's deck. A hideous nightmare. Four wings tattered and sharp-edged as any bat's. It bares fangs and dives at us, knobbly skin flashing pale blue in the moonlight.

Niall barks a warning and fires his musket. The report is ear-splitting and coughs a huge puff of smoke between us and the onrushing creature. It tears through, apparently unharmed by the shot, and knocks the weapon from Niall's hands.

More wings beat through the smoke. Ariya. She shoots twice with her crossbow in rapid succession, faster than I can reload, but the bolts embed themselves in grass.

I wheel about and fire my pistol.

Flash and smoke obscure my sight. There's a blood-curdling screech. By the time I've coughed my way clear of the smoke the creature charges us, as big as a cougar, sporting a long tear in one wing. I dive aside as it rips by. Knives tear at my back, shredding my cloak. Pain lances through my body.

My face meets the ground. There's grass in my teeth.

Tereth roars again, and the sky lights up with a ball of flame. He's missed, and a long stretch of grass is charred black. That creature may only be five feet long to his fifty, but it slashes at him with small talons as it flies rings around him.

How in the clear skies did we not see it aboard? Where did it hide?

Niall draws a bead on it with his musket. The hammer's cocked and he's ready to fire.

The beast shivers and disappears. All I can see is a ripple in the air, like the heat waves on the summer horizon, as they distort the stars.

Niall fires. The flash lights up everything but he misses.

He's thrown aside by an unseen impact. Cloth rips. His cloak is rent, and he slides on his arse a good six feet.

Niall roars, his face and muscles straining. Red and white fur sprouts, limbs contort, and green eyes expand and take on a wild glare. Fangs jut out, dripping saliva.

It's awoken the vulpex. A poor move on the creature's part.

"Steady, Niall! Ariya! Can you see it?" I get onto my knees. Where is my pistol? The falchion is still in its scabbard.

"Not wholly, Captain, but I can sense--there!" She shoots another bolt from her crossbow. Nothing.

"Tereth! Bring it down!" I hurry to Vesna, who's binding Gridley's haunches with a long strip torn from her skirt. It's dark with blood, even in this dim light.

"If I could but smell the beast, I would! It carries no scent to my snout." The dragon barks in surprise. A new tear appears in its wings. Tereth snarls and snaps around, lashing the air with his tail.

"If it comes close enough to me again, it'll regret the error." Niall the vulpex is testing the air with his nose, sniffing for a scent. He drops his musket in the grass, smoke still curling from the bell, and tears his katana free of his belt. "Come find me, you overgrown puss-filled slime-dripping bat wing!"

His shouts echo nicely but do not have the desired effect. Instead there's a cry from Ariya and she's tumbling through the air. Her crossbow spirals into the ground. But she whips about and grabs a fistful of--nothing. With the other hand she stabs with a dagger.

Black ichor spurt, and the creature howls. It shimmers back into sight. Talons rake Ariya's arms. She plummets like a shooting star.

The creature dives to ground and disappears.

Niall drops his sword and leaps ten feet up into an arc. He catches Ariya effortlessly and slams into the ground, feet dragging gouges in the dirt. She folds her wings in, cradling her body, with her eyes pinched shut. Niall holds on to her with a glare directed at me that warns I daren't dissuade him from his task.

"I can't see it!" Vesna searches the sky.

"Steady, all." I have my sword, but no ideas. Even Tereth hangs about, wary, bracing for the next strike.

"Don't worry. I can see it." Luc stands next to me. He has the Bloodheart in his hands, and the red glow is gone. It's shining silver, as if sitting out under the sun.

And so are his eyes.

He holds up his left hand. It glows the same silver, and a globe of swirling light builds until it's the size of a breadbasket. A jet of water jumps out.

It strikes what looks like air, but sends the creature tumbling from the sky.

The creature somersaults, wings flapping helplessly, screams mingling with the scrape of its body on the ground. It staggers to its feet, tearing up grass with its claws. The wound Ariya dealt drips blood. The creature is a long jump away from Vesna and Gridley.

Vesna wraps her arm around his throat and raises the jeweled dagger against the beast.

It lunges for them. But it's still visible.

Flame brings daylight to the scene. The creature's engulfed, body reduced to a black silhouette in the orange and yellow fire. It cries out, a bone-shattering scream that goes on and on, as the fire blasts it. Waves of heat wash over Vesna and Gridley, yet do them no harm. Instead they curl up over a swirling, curved wall of water.

Tereth's fire dies out. All that remains is a smoldering carcass, charred cinders, on burnt grass and blackened ground.

I approach the remnants, my muscles tense. Give it a jab with my sword. There's a collar there. Brass? Copper? It's half-melted, and bears strange runes.

It burns my hand. I curse. A blister rises on my thumb.

"Bowen." Vesna rubs at Gridley's head. He looks up, whimpers. "He's got a bad gash on his hindquarters. But I can heal his wound. It's nothing worse than what I saw tending bar."

My heart aches at the sight of my faithful Gridley. He licks my face, and whimpers again. I press his head close to my chest. Not poor Gridley. "Thank you, Vesna."

There's a ruckus behind me. By ruckus, I mean to say Niall is roaring at the top of his lungs. "Bowen! Bowen, did you see what the boy did!"

I did see. Just as I saw him render motionless our enemies when we escaped Zadar. And I still don't believe it.

Luc stands there, the Bloodheart an apple dangling from his right hand. His left arm hangs at his side. Water drips from the fingertips. Gone is the silver sheen from both his eyes and the Bloodheart. It resumes its steady, soft red pulsing.

"What did I say, were-fox?" Tereth lands with a thump that jars the earth. "The Bloodheart is powerful, especially so now that it is joined with the other two sources of magic."

"Not that! The boy is a water-summoner and never told us! And you could have explained that if you'd known, dragon!"

"I did not know. Because he isn't a summoner. Dragons can sense summoners." Tereth sniffs. His expression is one of curiosity. "This boy presents nothing of the sort to me."

"But he--"

"Niall! Put your claws away." I beckon Luc to me. He looks as startled by everything as the rest of us.

"Fine." Niall shifts into his human form, his eyes wild and hair blasted as if by wind. He sets Ariya down with the gentleness of a shepherd putting a lamb to rest on the meadow. She whispers something. I don't think I've ever seen Ariya not shout or demand, save to Luc. Whatever she says, Niall becomes suddenly very interested in the tips of his boots and will not meet her face.

Luc tugs on my tunic. Wetness seeps through the cloth. "I ... I don't understand. I could see the monster, and when I called out for help the water came to me."

"You never said a word aloud, lad," I say.

"Oh. But I did call." He looks up at Tereth. "What kind of monster was it?"

Tereth toes the remains of the creature with a claw. "This was a valkiro. A young one. It served darkness, that much I sensed."

"The collar?" I ask.

He nods. "It was used to leash him. By someone with great evil behind his purpose. You know of whom I speak."

"Strathern. It has to be." I rub Gridley's side, and he licks my hand. He's a strong hound. He'll mend. Especially if Vesna tends to him.

"There's more herbs I can use to salve his wounds, on the ship," Vesna says.

"Wait. Ariya?"

She nods. Her arms are bloody, but she's made no move to bind them. She's not weak, either. If anything she looks more stolid and determined than ever. "I will go with her. We will make sure there are no other surprises."

"There aren't," Luc whispers. "I only saw the one monster."

Ariya nods. She and Vesna start for the ship.

Niall sidles up to me, crouches beside Gridley. Sweat drenches his tunic, and drips from his face. "Luc is not a summoner."

"No. No he's not." I glance at the lad. "Your father never taught you the ways of a soulmage, did he?"

Luc shakes his head.

"Please, lad. Try something for me."

"What?"

I dig through the legends Evan told me years ago, and the secrets hinted at in my abbreviated training. "Summon ice from your right hand, and fire from your left."

Niall growls.

Luc puts the Bloodheart back into its bag, which dangles across his shoulders. He holds both hands out, and frowns. "How?"

"However you did it before, Luc."

He closes his eyes. His lips move. A silver glow emanates from the bag, and when he opens his eyes, they are that eerie luminous silver, too.

Luc thrusts both hands skyward. A plume of fire gouts from his left palm, curling and crackling with heat. A blue glow encases his right, sending sparkling ice in a hailstorm over our heads.

I let the icy bits fall upon my face. Remarkable.

"It ... it can make men into soulmages." Niall's eyes are wide. "Fine. You were right. We shouldn't have tried to sell it."

"We must return this to Benath, and the safety of Cloud Reef," Tereth says.

"We must." I turn to him. "But first, I must take it to an old friend. Our sanctuary is nearer."

# THE TWENTY-FIFTH CHAPTER

~

### Strathern

Jix is dead.

Oh, yes. I know it.

The collar that bound him to my will bound me to him, too, though not as tightly as he'd like. Jix was my servant, I was his master.

But even in the dark of the woods, can a man not tell when the leash securing him to his hunting hound is severed? Same principle.

One moment I'm snapping orders at my lieutenant, then next I'm bracing myself on a bulkhead of _Inexorable_. My breath comes in shallow gasps.

"Sire?" He waits nearby. But doesn't touch.

Good thing. Mood I'm in I would crush the bones in that hand with my metal appendage. Jix's last words echo-- _Too many to fight! Must bring message! Bolts. Musket balls. Fire. A child? Such power! He ... water? Fire ... burns! _

Darkness.

I suck in a breath, and focus my mind on the precepts my master taught me: control, contain, consume. "Jix is dead."

"You're certain, sire?"

"Of course I am certain." Idiot. "Continue on course."

"Yes, sire."

I walk onto the stern deck. The stars are gorgeous tonight. Hundreds of them, thousands of glittering eyes. Some summoners believe they are the souls of those who died striving to extend their power.

I scowl. Fools. The best path is the slow path to power. Best to savor it. After all, what good is power if you are dead? Better not to die. Period.

Our squadron continues north. _Encampment_ and _Rattler_ soar below and behind us, our trailing clouds. There are few floating islands in this region. Mountains make a long, dark shadow farther north, silhouetted against the velvety blue sky.

That relic is near. It is almost in my grasp. Our grasp.

When we have it, there will be nothing to stand before the forces of Northamber.

"Sire." Captain Hamish approaches from the ship's wheels, hands clasped behind his back. Everywhere the man's eyes look, his crew leap to their work. "We have sighted six ships on the horizon. They are flying the Northamber colors but I do not recognize the type. Corsairs?"

"Where? Where are they?" I grasp the ship's rail, mindful of the seven thousand foot drop just beyond this three-inch thick wood.

Captain Hamish hands me a spyglass. I train it on the distant clouds passing by beneath the glow of the moon. He directs my view.

Yes, he's right. Six ships. Two three-masted warships of the same general make as _Inexorable_ , and four more rigged as schooners. All are clad in iron scantlings that wrap the hulls. Long, slender spikes of metal protrude from beneath the bowsprits of all six.

"Those are new ships of war, the very same I requested from His Majesty days ago. They are slower than most craft you've piloted, Captain, but far more robust." I stretch metal fingertips to the heavens. Lighting shoots into the sky, great bolts that crackle and thunder, jumping from cloud to cloud far above _Inexorable_ 's masts.

From the lower decks the crews' cries echo. They should tremble. I demand it.

Captain Hamish is not so easily cowed. "A pretty light show, sire."

"Yes. One which will be answered."

He opens his mouth to ask the inevitable but chokes off a reply when lightning bolts lance out from the nearest ship.

Perfect. My brethren have arrived. Late, curse them, but they've arrived.

Jix did well.

~

The transfer is done by skiffs. Six boats crewed by a duo of rough sky sailors float over to _Inexorable_ , tiny sails catching the breezes as a fish's fins scoop up current. The ships join our fleet. I'm satisfied with this nine.

There are six summoners to greet me. Calder leads them. He's half a head taller than me, with bright blue eyes and hair as pale as straw that looks ever paler against his black cloak. His face is deep-lined, and clean-shaven. They all wear black cloaks, and red-trimmed black garb beneath. Calder bows at the waist. "Sire. We apologize for the delay, but our ships were not fitted out when the summons came."

"Too bad for you, Calder, or you would have seen the havoc of an unleashed ice-summoner."

His eyes widen, and he smirks. "An ice-summoner? You have had quite the time. No relic, though."

"At least I had it in my reach. Far more than you can say, after how many years of searching?"

Calder's smirk fades. "You remember the others."

Fantine, the dark-haired wind-summoner, and her twin sister Etheria; hulking Rostov, balding and with hands that smolder with fire; Taran, Rostov's cousin and he too a fire-summoner, thin as the ship's rail and with wiry brown hair; and Satara, a red-headed beauty with legs as long as the horizon is far, and a wicked smile to make a weak man drop dead in her tracks. She's one of the few summoners of earth I've met in the flesh. Satara gives me a curtsy and favors me with that smile. "Strathern."

"Satara." Never been able to make her abide by rank. Never been able to taste the skin beneath that cloak and the tight-fighting black tunic and armor, either. Pity.

"We accepted your invite without knowledge you'd bring us all together on such a lovely evening," she says.

"The weather is a pure but welcome coincidence, my dear. Alas, our business is far more serious and leaves no time to admire the sights."

We commandeer the quarterdeck. My lieutenant stands watch, allowing none to pass. Captain Hamish keeps his eye on us as we congregate.

"So. Vat is next move?" Rostov always frowns. Never seen the man move his lips beyond that position, even when gnawing on a roast lamb's leg.

"Our next move is to intercept Bowen Cord," I say.

"Again." Calder winks at Satara.

Ass. "Yes, again. This time we may succeed where I failed since the rest of you have managed to overcome your tardiness."

Satara's soft chuckle is reward enough, though Calder's discomfiture is a bonus.

"Tell us," Rostov demands.

"We had Cord and his people well hemmed in at Zadar, where a delightful lady told me he would return for resupply. You know the four ships that left Pons Aelius to reinforce my command there." Heads nod in response. Except for Calder's. He watches me, icy eyes impassive. Are those sparks behind them? Likely. "They did not prove enough."

"Obviously. For you only have three of your five," Calder says.

"The other two are in Zadar undergoing repairs." They won't like this bit. "Cord had a dragon with him."

Curses lash out in the silence. The magic among us tightens. Wind bursts up, shaking the sails and eliciting cries from the hapless sailors working the rigging.

I glare at Fantine and Etheria, who bow their heads silently. Lack of control is their greatest difficulty.

"What manner of dragon, Strathern?" Satara alone has done no swearing. "A Great Lord?"

"No. A blue and white of the Atlan Reach. Just the one."

"The one that you saw."

"They do go great distances alone." Yet. I have posted watch for ambush numerous times since fleeing Zadar. Fleeing? Strategically withdrawing. "Nevertheless we must be cautious. If Cord can bring forth such a beast we'd be wise not to trifle with him."

"And when did caution ever suit us, sire?" Calder laughs. "Caution is a trait reserved for old women and small boys."

Chuckles ripple through the group. Except for Rostov and Satara.

I step nose to nose with Calder. His laughter cuts off. The electricity sparks from my right arm to his. He flinches.

"Gansvoort. You remember him, of course."

"One of my finest mentors."

"Slain by orcs because he abandoned caution. He was gifted to be one of the greatest summoners of our age." I slap Calder across the face--with my left hand, not the right. The red welt rising on his cheek is the result I planned, not a broken jaw. "Dead! Flesh gnawed off his bones. The man had complete mastery of fire, and yet it could not save him from an orc horde when he challenged them singlehandedly. Stupidity is what killed him."

Silent as the grave, they all are. Well they should be. I glare at each one in turn. Satara gives a slight nod. "You would do well to remember that imbecile's example--and not repeat it. Eh, Calder?"

The set of his jaw tells me he's spoiling to return the blow, but he stands still, arms by his side. Calder glares at me but doesn't dare strike.

He's never dueled me with lightning before. A handful have. They're dead.

"Caution is why we brought the new warships," Satara says. "They have reinforced hulls, and weaponry to handle an assortment of foul creatures."

"Good. Very good. And those spikes?"

Satara teases me with another smile. She gestures to the gleaming spikes protruding from the bows of the nearest warships. "Grappling harpoons meant for reeling in corsairs."

Yet, I can think of a far better use for them.

"We chase Cord, then," Rostov grunts.

"No. He's gone too far north and east, and we have no location to which we can follow."

"What of the bind to your valkiro?" Calder asks.

I spear him with a look, but he doesn't quail. Good. He can learn. "It is not specific to locale. Jix did not know where he was. There was fighting, and fire. That's all I know. Strike that: I do know where Cord will go next."

"That's where you're leading us," Satara says.

"Yes."

"Where?"

They won't like this. "Jasna Gora."

The wind sisters scowl and spit on the deck, simultaneously. Rostov makes a warding gesture with three fingers raised on his left hand. Satara puts her hand to her mouth, eyes wide, and Calder sighs deeply.

Taran alone does not register alarm. His face, pale blue as the rest in the moonlight, is passionless. He snaps his left fingers once, twice, for a tongue of flame. He makes it dance in his palm. Then he flings it out, over my head, and immolates a moth fluttering there. Charred wings disintegrate onto my cloak.

I brush them off. "You had all best focus and prepare. You know what awaits."

Satara nods. "Soulmages."

"Well, strike me with a bolt." Calder crosses his arms. "We're all going to die."

# THE TWENTY-SIXTH CHAPTER

~

THEY ARE WAITING FOR US when we arrive at Jasna Gora. Thirty of them. Eight priests bedecked in dazzling white robes and crimson vestments, and twenty-two acolytes in plain brown garb.

Taking control of the air space around the great library is a simpleton's task. The local duke is weak. He has only a pair of cutters patrolling the valley, and we send them scurrying with a pair of fusillades from _Inexorable_ 's cannons. Spearmen flee their posts on the road approaching the citadel with fireballs flung by Rostov hammering down upon them, leaving miniature bonfires burning black holes in the green fields.

I have _Inexorable_ moored to the walls of Jasna Gora. No boarding ramp is extended our way. How rude. Instead we extend our own planks the short distance from the hull to the stone blocks, so we cross the open space under the shadow of _Inexorable_ 's sails. _Cobra_ and _Encampment_ I leave hovering overhead, their light tan hulls sharp in relief against the approaching storm clouds that crowd together in formations of charcoal gray. Their cannons are trained on the spires and domes of the library. As for the armored ships, they are leashed in a tight circle around Jasna Gora's plain, watching all approaches for signs of Bowen Cord and his cursed _Sleet_.

We stand before the assembled soulmages, with Satara by my right and Calder to my left. The other summoners spread out in arc, facing our adversaries. The air crackles with our combined magic. It soothes my nerves, and whispers sweet promises of power in my mind.

My lieutenant and two dozen armored soldiers guard our flanks in tight rows, their fusils at the ready. I don't foresee needing them. I also do not believe in being outgunned if it comes to a more savage fight.

"You have no business here." The priest in front is young, perhaps my age, yet could still be the father of many of the acolytes. He has a mop of brown hair and is tall, reedy in stature. Yet his tone brooks no argument. "These are the lands of the Grand Duchy of Slaskie, and Jasna Gora is a sanctuary to all beings. Northamber has no authority."

"Northamber's reach extends to wherever His Majesty deems." I point at this priest. Lighting dances the length of my metal arm, setting sparks off the tip of my finger. "You have harbored a fugitive from our justice, a thief and a murderer who conspires with dark powers."

The priest scowls. "You have nerve telling me of dark powers, when the vile blackness around you is thicker than these storm clouds."

No pushover, this one. I can see fear in the faces of many standing behind him, especially the young acolytes. But this priest barks without timidity. I respect that.

Not that it will save him from my wrath.

Calder leans in and spits at the priest's feet. "Give us Bowen Cord, kneeler, and we'll only kill you instead of torturing your women and children before we burn you alive."

The priest smiles, but it isn't a friendly expression. It's lips spread to reveal fangs, a wolf's sneer before it savages his prey. "I am Father Evan Tyrz, and I serve the Most High." His eyes glow a brilliant white, which makes the white of his robes dingy by comparison. "You will not defile His place of sanctuary and knowledge."

Calder, you imbecile. I grab his shoulder and jerk him backward, off his footing. He stumbles and snarls at me. I ignore him. "Be reasonable, soulmage. If Cord is here, reveal him. If he is not thus, tell us whence he's gone. We want only the Bloodheart."

"No," he says.

"No is not an acceptable answer."

"No is the only right answer." He lifts his right hand, palm flat toward me. Magic surges over me. It pulses, an unseen force that is somehow...wrong. Twisted from the magic I use and know. It does not stand ready for command. It means to conquer me.

Such is the might of a soulmage. Calder was right to fear.

There is still a chance for our success. I glance at Satara.

The largest stone block from the edge of Jasna Gora's wall jerks free, dribbling shards as it hovers in the gap where it once stood fast and hurtles through the air with the ease of a tossed pine cone. It is dead on to this upstart Father Evan.

He holds up his right hand, without taking that glowing white gaze off me, and the rock halts without hesitation. He squeezes his fingers into a fist, the tendons tightening as a ship's lines pull under sail, and the rock that is as big around as a barrel crumbles into dust and pebbles.

Calder makes a quiet choking sound behind me.

"You have chosen a path of folly, Strathern," Father Evan says grimly, "The Most High does not suffer fools."

I hold out my arms, palms up, and let the lightning dance upon them. The bolts crackle and writhe from shoulders to fingertips. The power builds, excitement of the highest order. It pulls at its leash, demanding release. "This is the path we freely chose."

"So be it."

The air explodes with magic.

Calder and I lash lighting across the priests and acolytes, sending white and yellow bolts arcing in their midst. Thunder booms off stone walls. Taran and Rostov dodge the bursts of magic that slam at us from the soulmages' hands, undulating pulses of blue-white light, and lob comets of fire across the ramparts.

The twin sisters Fantine and Etheria soar into the sky, carried on columns of churning air. With shrieks matched only by a banshee's fury, they rip across the soulmages with twisters of wind that whip all our robes and cloaks. Satara, meanwhile, keeps up a steady barrage of stones, ripping blocks from the wall and bricks from the side of the library with equal aplomb.

But soulmages are not feared without reason. They shield each other from our blows, deflecting lightning, smothering fire, standing firm against wind and pulverizing rock. They advance on us, slowly, haltingly, but advancing nonetheless.

The others spread apart from me. They know this drill. We have used our formation to great effect before, to the doom of whole armies. Never against this many soulmages.

My lieutenant shouts for orders, his musket ready at his shoulder.

Asking, at a time like this? "Shoot, you idiots!"

Gunfire crackles behind me. A musket ball whines far too close by my head, sounding like a massive angry hornet in my ear. But they would do better to shoot point-blank at iron armor. None of their shots penetrate the line of the soulmages' defenses.

My anger grows. Dark clouds churn over us. I can feel our magic gathering, pulling together into a cluster of blackness and strength. I turn over my rage, let it feed off the magic and be fed upon.

I unleash a new wave of lightning with a cry that sears my throat as badly as the magic sears my body.

The bolts crash upon the soulmages as a wave pounds the beach. What my siblings would say to compare the two, I can only imagine. As it is, Father Evan shouts orders at his priests, and their eyes glow ever brighter.

Calder adds his lightning to the fusillade, and together we press forward. The boy is reckless, yes, and excessive when it comes to use of force in situations where it can be avoided. In a battle such as this, however, his fury is my greatest asset. None of the others possess an inner darkness strong enough to give us the power to succeed.

With a cry of desperation, the acolytes break ranks. They storm us with swords and halberds. The soulmages' blasts of magic catch us unawares for this new onslaught.

I pull my blade free of its scabbard and clash with the nearest youth. My lieutenant shouts a command, and the thunder of the soldiers' boots on stone joins the rumble from the heavens above.

The rampart around me becomes a furious melee of metal and gunsmoke, fire and lightning. I parry the inexpert blows of the young acolyte attacking me, his face dusted with soot and streaked with tears. Yet he hacks at me with that sword with such devotion, one must admire his faith.

I admire it even as I block, sidestep, and thrust my sword's blade deep into his chest.

A volley of musket fire cuts down two more acolytes. Father Evan howls. Outstretched hands send half a dozen of my soldiers screaming over the ramparts, tumbling like dead leaves in autumn. Their armor makes a distant clatter on the road far below.

Waves of fire and lightning swirl about us. Satara yells, and I dodge the swipe of a halberd as I pivot for a look. She pulls a longsword blade from her left shoulder, and brings a wall of dirt careening up the side of the fortress walls. It hammers aside the acolyte who stabbed her. He's slammed into the nearest wall of the library, his cry muffled into a choking gasp. The torrent of dirt turns into mud as rain pours down on us, a deluge that cuts my visibility in half.

In seconds he's buried under muck thrice as tall as a man.

Satara sags to the ground. I'm at her side. Blood pours from the deep gash in her left shoulder. Her skin is paler than ever, and her breathing comes in sharp gasps. "Couldn't believe...I was sloppy enough to let him ... in that close." She favors me with a shaky version of that sharp smile of hers.

The desire to hold her close and exterminate her pain is overwhelming, but forbidden. Instead I hold my right index finger an inch above the wound, and look her dead in the eyes. They are a stunning, smoldering brown. "This will hurt, but the bleeding has to stop."

She bites her lip, and for a moment there's intense vulnerability. A little girl lost among noise and chaos. Then her mask reappears, the sultry Satara who has done battle by my side more than a dozen times. She nods. "I will not scream."

Very well. I stab at the wound with lightning. Brilliant light sparks between my finger and her shoulder. Flesh sizzles, and burns. The stench makes me gag but I stomp down on that reflex.

Satara grimaces, grunts, but does not scream. Her eyes are squeezed shut. Tears drip from the corners, mingling with raindrops.

It's over.

Calder's seen us. He sneers in my direction as he blasts at a priest with his lightning, sending the old man spinning away with the bolt whipping about his body.

Say something, boy. I dare you.

Satara moves off from me, draws her sword, and joins the fray without a look in my direction or a word spoken in thanks.

Smoke and rain mingle in a sodden, foggy mess. There are screams and explosions and the sizzle of fire in water, but I can barely see the next man in front of me.

Father Evan.

I shower him with lightning from my metal arm, sword still clutched in my other. He uses his perverted form of magic to counter each bolt, deflect each ray of light. Our bodies are weirdly lit. An otherworldly glow suffuses everything until we are pale shadows of ourselves.

We're pressed a mere three feet apart, close enough to shake hands yet separated by barricades of magic so thick the strongest armor of man is but silk to this. The air ripples with our combined power.

"You didn't have to take the hard way!" I have to shout over the crackle and thrum, the report of gunfire and the roar of rain. "You should have given us Bowen!"

"I'll not betray a friend to evil!" Father Evan's voice is firm. He betrays no sign of exhaustion, or pain, or fear.

What a bother. Those are the worst men to face.

I feel the throbbing pain at my shoulder grow, where the focusing crystal rests inset in my metal arm. It's gathering power, slowly, even as the priest and I hammer at each other with our magic. Light pours forth from the crystal, adding to the glow washing all color from our surroundings.

Hurry. Faster!

Father Evan's power presses me back. My boots skid on the stone, losing traction, slipping in a puddle.

Etheria swoops in from the right, unleashing a funnel of air at Father Evan. He doesn't break his concentration from me, but uses his left hand to redirect the wind, channel it at her. Etheria goes spinning like a child's top over one of the domed roofs, shouting obscenities.

"Sire!" My lieutenant has blood on his face, a gash in his armor and his cutlass drawn. A musket lies at his feet, snapped cleanly in two.

"Signal them!" I thunder.

He yanks a pistol from his waist sash, one hidden behind his cloak. Aims it skyward. It's a clunky contraption with a muzzle thrice as big as a wheellock's.

Father Evan's expression betrays puzzlement.

I sneer at him, though it's half-hearted. I have no stomach for what's in store for this place. It is, after all, a thing of beauty.

My lieutenant fires. The shot blazes red sparks like a rising star, streaking up beyond the tallest spire of Jasna Gora. It sparkles and spreads out in the rain.

And above us, _Encampment_ and _Rattler_ open fire.

The first cannonballs punch holes in a gilded dome, shattering it completely. The next salvo ignites fires.

Father Evan cries out.

His defenses flicker.

With a savage roar I let loose the magic that has been building in my focusing crystal this entire time. The lightning blast is as big around as my arm, and lets out a tremendous _BOOM_ that staggers me. It catches Father Evan clean in the chest, no magic protecting him. He's thrown into rubble and shadow.

More cannonballs impact the rampart around us, blasting apart the battle formations. Acolytes shout in terror and pain. The priests' voices are lower, focused calls for salvation. But they fear, too. I hear the tremors.

In moments the fight is over. The acolytes lay dead at our feet. The priests too. The cannon fire ceases from our warships. Only the sounds of rain falling and fires hissing accompany the now fallen darkness of night.

I do a head count. Fifteen soldiers dead. Satara is down on one knee, panting, while Calder questions her. Rostov helps Taran as the latter limps along, right leg twisted and bloodied. Fantine soars in for a landing on a roar of wind, bearing Etheria's body in her arms. Her neck is bent sharply, eyes staring wide past her sister at nothing. Dead?

Fantine collapses to her knees and sobs. Her cries echo on the stone, filling the night.

I cover Etheria's face with the hood of her cloak. May her magic join with us all.

There's no bringing her back from death. No summoner can do that. Not even a soulmage.

It is a rule, you see.

# THE TWENTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER

~

### Bowen

Vesna and I reconcile.

We sit together in the darkness of my cabin, only the glow of the single candle in its nook to illuminate our faces. She draws me in for a kiss.

At the back of my mind, the Bloodheart awaits. I still see Luc walking out of fire, unharmed. I still see him using magic to defeat that foul creature that attacked Gridley and the rest of us.

Those images don't fade. They're persistent as the afterglow from a flash of lightning.

Lightning. Strathern.

He's hunting me. Us.

I pull from Vesna's embrace. Sit on the edge of the bunk and stare at the timbers of _Sleet_. I run my hand across the wood. It has a steadying influence.

"Are you well, Bowen?" Vesna rests her chin on my shoulder. "You need rest."

I shake my head. "Have to walk the deck. I need the sky to clear my head."

"Don't be long, then." She kisses my neck, a light brush of her lips.

No, I won't be.

Gridley waits outside my cabin door. He looks up, ears perked.

"Good boy." I pet him, cradling his face in both hands. "Walk with me?"

He's up in a flash of fur, leading the way up the ladder. Gridley has a limp to him now, but he's strong and resilient. Vesna's healing herbs have done the trick, as I knew they would. Within days Gridley will regain his full strength, of that I have no doubt.

He's a brave one.

Ariya is at the ship's wheels. She nods my way when I mount the deck. Silver-rimmed eyes glitter in the light of the light of the moon. The latter looms far above, bright white and waxing gibbous.

Niall walks the ship's rail to starboard. He gives me a wave and a grin, his musket balanced over his shoulders, and returns to his watch. Far off to the north and two hundred feet above, Tereth flies through the scattered clouds, huge wings broad as our sails.

"All's well, Ariya?" Gridley and I join her at the wheels.

"Nothing on the horizon yet, Captain. Niall promises he'll alert me with due speed and appropriate wit." Though her words are sour, there's a hint of a smile to her mouth.

There are pale red streaks on her arms where the beast flayed her skin. "Healing well?"

"As well as the next Aevorn woman, which is to say, much faster than a human man." She hesitates. "Niall offered to bandage them, of course, but I told him it would be foolish to do so."

"He's a kind enough soul, down beneath the bluster and fur." I smile. "Especially toward individuals of whom he's feeling fiercely protective."

"I am certain I don't know what you mean, Captain."

"Of all of us aboard ship, Ariya, you are the only who arrived here for purely commercial purposes. We were not friends before--nor did you present me any great mystery, like our youthful passenger."

"My hire was simply the most prudent choice." There's a hint of a smile on her lips.

"One I've never regretted. But I'd have you know, Ariya, that your presence means more now to Niall and me than that of crew. We are companions. If you feel that this mission has brought peril to you, well, I know the importance of returning to your roost and I'd not keep you from that."

She remains silent a moment. "Captain--Bowen, I have served you these thirteen months because I chose _Sleet_. There has never been any doubt that you are an able leader. You and Niall are my friends, and my crewmates. This is where I belong. I'll not part our company simply because the air is rough. I am an Aevorn; we live for the turbulence."

I touch her shoulder. "Thank you."

Gridley nuzzles against her. Ariya scratches the top of his head. "Of course. Speaking of our young passenger, he's at the bowsprit, with the Bloodheart."

"Not surprising. He's not let it from his sight."

I lead Gridley up to the bow of _Sleet_. Luc is indeed sitting there, legs curled beneath him, bag resting on his lap. A breeze ruffles his hair. He hears our approach and smiles at me.

"How are you faring, lad?" I sit beside him. Gridley pushes between us and rubs his snout against Luc's face.

Luc pets him vigorously, until Gridley rolls onto his backside to have his belly attended to. "Tired. I have to keep watch over the Bloodheart. It's always whispering."

Whispering? "We'll have it safe at Jasna Gora soon. Father Evan will know what to do next."

"Will he?" Luc seems troubled. His smile fades, and his expression sad. "I don't know if anyone does. My father thought he knew."

"What happened, Luc? Was your father a soulmage?"

Luc nods. He rubs Gridley's belly, but with a vacant gaze directed off to the stars.

"Why did he not use his power to defend from the corsairs?"

"He...couldn't. He told me he wasn't allowed, and it was his penance to obey." Tears brim at the corners of his eyes. "Father said there are consequences to everything we do, and his was to have his powers fade. Just like the other magi in our village. When the corsairs attacked he couldn't do anything but try to stop them. With a wall."

"A wall?"

"Of magic." Luc rubs at his eyes. "But it fell. Everyone who could tried to help. It wasn't enough. Father fought the corsairs with his staff. He hurt some. They didn't get up again. But there were too many, and he made me hide."

I put a hand on his shoulder. "It was good that he did thus."

"I could have helped. Especially if we'd had the Bloodheart."

A curve of the silvery sphere is visible in the opening of the bag. "It's not for you to muse upon that, lad. What's done is done. We have to sail on in the present."

Luc sniffs. "Father said the same. He said all life's plans are written for us, and we can't comprehend. Even death comes when it is supposed to."

Death. My beloved wife. The light fading from her eyes as she gasps out her last breath, skin hot from the fever. My cries rattling the timbers of our farmhouse. I would trade everything to have her returned. Even _Sleet_. But magic does not allow it. The ice could not stopper death.

The Bloodheart pulses with red.

Yet. This relic shows immense power. It gave Luc magic when he had no skill of his own. He's not a summoner. But he brought forth two elements. No summoner should be able to do that. I find it hard to believe it was not a trick of the senses.

If it can do that, break that rule, surely it can break another?

"Captain!" Ariya's shout startles me from my reverie. She's pointing off to the horizon, a few degrees south of west to port. The sky bleeds. Reds and oranges.

I leap to my feet. "Niall..."

"I see it, Bowen." He's at my side, a low growl in his throat. "There's smoke."

Tereth soars in close to _Sleet_. "I shall fly on and scout. You would do best to increase speed, man-worms." With a powerful gust of wind from under his wings, he darts ahead into the sky.

Niall stands beside me. "It stinks of Strathern."

"I know."

"If it's a trap, then..."

"Do not ask, Niall. This is Evan. We go."

He grumbles, without argument. "I'll be off to the armory below."

I stare at the red horizon and the smoke, prayer in my heart.

~

Jasna Gora is a smoldering, blackened ruin.

Every dome is shattered like an eggshell. Spires are snapped off, crumbled. Fires still blaze in the west half of the fortress. Thick black smoke billows up, and Ariya maneuvers _Sleet_ out of the westerly wind that blows the choking morass directly at us.

"We should not have come here," Tereth says. "I will scour the skies for whoever inflicted this death." His wings rip the smoke clouds asunder.

The rampart and the end of the wall on which we moored at on our last visit are demolished. There are bodies strewn everywhere. Brown robes--acolytes. And scattered white robes with red vestments.

Evan. Where is he?

Ariya brings us in low to the wall and, ignoring Vesna's shouts, I leap over. My boots slam onto the rocks. Niall thumps to a landing right beside me, his musket leveled. Gridley leaps down, too, though his landing is wobbly.

"Tie up on the other side!" I shout to Ariya. "We'll search for survivors."

She scowls but veers _Sleet_ away just as I ordered.

Thick, acrid smoke forms clouds that sting my eyes and make it impossible to see anything more than a few feet in front of my face. There is rubble underfoot, the shattered remnants of portions of Jasna Gora's wall, and mounds where whole hills of brick have tumbled down from the buildings.

Bodies. A young acolyte, so badly burned his skin is charcoal. A priest lies crumpled on his side, blood congealing in a dark puddle around his middle.

Niall kneels by a third acolyte, and presses a hand to his throat. The boy's eyes are wide open to the skies above, and his body slack. "Dead."

Beyond the bodies is a heap of rubble as tall as either of us. Gridley's ears go straight up. He barks once, then makes an arrow-straight shot for the rubble. He's climbing over it, sniffing. He lets out another bark.

Niall and I cautiously shove rock aside. A moan reaches our ears. I pull a shard of stone as long as my arm off and there, suddenly, is Evan's face, his eyes pinched shut in pain.

"Evan!" I fling rubble aside. He's pinned beneath a rock as big as a horse. It won't budge, no matter how I push and strain.

Niall growls. He shifts into his were-fox form, muscles rippling under red fur, and he lifts the rock a foot of Evan's body. His arms, now thrice as big around as mine, tremble with the exertion.

I drag Evan as carefully and as quickly as I can from under the stone's shadow. Niall grunts, letting the giant rock slam down with such force my bones shake.

"Bowen..." Evan's voice quavers. His face is covered with soot, and streaked with blood from a deep gash on the left side of his head. His right arm is crushed and mangled. Both legs are bleeding, exposed under the shredded remains of his once pristine robe.

"Hold fast, Evan. I have someone with me who can help heal you." I hope. I pray. Vesna's herbs may not be enough to cure such damage as this.

Evan shakes his head. He opens his eyes, and they are glassy, unfocused with pain. "My end ... is nigh. Keep it from them... the Bloodheart."

I cannot keep the anguish and anger from my face. My hands shake with fury.

Evan grabs my shoulder, the strength of the grip a shock. His eyes glow brilliant white, and fear as I've never known it stabs at my heart. He's a soulmage. All these years, he never let his true ability show.

"Do not forsake ... your call." Evan grimaces, his teeth grinding. Then the lines smooth over, the pain evaporates from his face.

Gone.

Sobs wrack my body. Arms shake as I cradle Evan. Gone. Tears splatter on his robe, making white again the surface soiled with soot and ash. Gridley presses against me, nuzzling up for comfort. Niall steps near, and a furred, clawed hand rests on my neck.

Why would You let Evan leave? Why must he die? First my beloved, and now a true friend. I need him!

A scream echoes in the wind. I turned and see _Sleet_ sliding through the air, sideways, with her sails limp. A woman walks the wall, dressed in black, hands raised over her head. The air writhes between her and _Sleet_ , smoke curling about as if it were a living being.

Two men join her, appearing as wraiths from the haze. One, a hulking brute, balances what appear to be lit torches in each hand. Yet as he nears I see they are not torches at all, but gouts of fire issuing forth from the palms of his hand, springs of snapping flames. The other, a young fellow with blond hair, grins and flicks lightning out from his hands.

But this is not Strathern.

"It is a tragedy." The voice comes from above, and behind.

Strathern walks a steady tread over the rubble piled about us. His cloak whips about him in the breeze, glowing a brilliant scarlet in the aura Jasna Gora's flames. With him is a woman, a red-haired beauty, whose very presence makes the earth tremble.

"He was a valiant man. Fought us bravely, and showed true honor in leading his priests. I've only met a handful of men as good as he." Strathern's smile is thin, tight. "Cost me one of mine own summoners, and more than a dozen soldiers."

"Then you were let off too easily!" Niall fires off the shot before I can even think to forbid him. The bang and the puff of smoke obscure all else for a moment.

When it clears away, I hear laughing. A woman's laugh.

By heaven.

The red-haired devil holds her left hand out, fingers curled in a wicked grasp. A lump of dirt and grass the size of my fist floats there with a dark hole at center, a hole large enough to fit a musket ball.

Strathern shakes his head. "If you resist me now, you'll all die. There will be not enough left of your corpses to warrant a funeral. Give me the Bloodheart, and those aboard your ship need not perish."

I look up. Vesna and Luc are hanging on to each other, and press against the starboard rail as _Sleet_ leans that way. Ariya fights with the wheels. But the woman below merely waggles her fingers, and the air lashes as the hull, shaking loose coiled rigging and sending a barrel plummeting.

Cannon blasts boom far off. Niall swears and points. A trio of dark ships, looming like thunderclouds, are firing upon Tereth. He dodges the shots, savaging them with fire, and succeeds in lighting one vessel's masts ablaze. But there comes a sharp whistle of air, and flashes of -metal? Light? - and he's suddenly roaring. One ship veers away, dragging Tereth through the air by chains that look like tiny threads from this far distance.

"You see? Even your dragon has no hope. No prayer for escape." Strathern smiles. "No worry. We'll make his end quick."

Creaking wood echoes. The woman controlling the wind lowers _Sleet_ until the hull thuds against the top of Jasna Gora's wall. No sooner does it lean perilously toward the burning walls than there is a rush of wings whirling out from between the masts. Ariya soars toward us, with Vesna hanging by her arms and Luc wrapped about her waist. They continue in ungainly fashion, tumbling across the rock in a rough landing that scatters the trio.

Luc's bag skids from his grasp. The Bloodheart rolls free, banging into a heap of brick with a metallic ring that ends all other sound.

The younger lightning-summoner cries out. There's a hungry look about him, and his movements are lithe as a wolf's. "That is it! The Bloodheart. Just as the myths said. Strike me down, it is beautiful."

"Calder! Leave the prize for me." Strathern's warning is a sharp lashing of words.

The young man, Calder, sneers in response. He reaches for the Bloodheart--

And catches a bolt of lightning with his chest.

The boom from the bolt's thunder rattles the air. The hair on my arms stands on end. Strathern stands firm, metal arm extended, with sparks curling from his fingertips and mask of cold hatred fixed over what had been an amiable expression.

Calder coughs, staggers to his feet. There's a nasty burn on his chest, skin reddened and raw where the bolt tore his tunic asunder and melted through what appears to be shining chain mail armor.

"Leave us alone." It's Luc. He's kneeling by the Bloodheart. How he got to it so fast, I know not. But he has it cradled in his hands. And stares at Calder with white glowing eyes.

By heavens.

Calder roars, a wordless battle cry, and throws out both hands toward him. Lightning leaps out, living and hungry, yellow-white and brilliant as the sun. It strikes at Luc.

Instead it hits a barricade of rock.

The bolts deflect and angle up, searing the sky. Calder backs off, wrangling the lightning as it casts about for a new target. Bolts lap at _Sleet_.

"No!" Ariya barrels for Calder, but a gust of wind slams her across the rock. This does not prevent her from letting fly a pair of daggers, glittering steel that darts out and slices through the wind woman's arms. She shrieks in pain, blood spurting from both shoulders.

Calder vents his fury with more lightning, his face contorted with rage. But the rock in front of him bursts apart, showering him with a wind-driven storm of debris. Each stone is the size of my fist. He raises his hands to shield his face.

The tingling in my arms can no longer be ignored. I throw ice in a blast of blue and white light, encasing Calder's hands.

Niall howls and leaps over my head, with Gridley lunging and snarling alongside.

A great roar rumbles over the land. Tereth. Even this far away, we can all see he's ripped free of the harpoons. Thick green liquid streams from wounds, yet he pounds air for all he's worth with those great wings. Up into the clouds, with the ships firing cannon in pursuit.

Away from Jasna Gora.

Lighting. Rock. Fire. Ice. Wind. The elements blast about us. The woman with Strathern slams a pile of brick against my chest, knocking me down and sending my senses adrift. Images flash before me:

_Sleet_ 's sails billowing as the wind brings her aloft.

Gridley grappling with the earth-summoner.

Niall sinking his teeth into Strathern's metal arm.

Luc flashing fire and ice at Calder.

Vesna swiping with a sword at the bearded fire-summoner.

Ariya eyes wild and silver as the blade she wields. slitting the throat of the wind woman, blood spraying as rain.

And a final, huge thunderclap that turns everything bright white, then pitch as night.

Dark. Quiet.

Nothing.

# THE TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER

~

### Strathern

We've lost far more than I bargained. Etheria. Fantine.

I stand over the latter's body. Her eyes stare up at the smoke cloud billowing, unseeing and empty. Her skin is twice the pale of usual, made all the lighter against the crimson pool of blood under her body. A thick red slash decorates her neck.

My reflection stares at me from her blood.

The rest of my summoners slowly shake off the effects of the stun. They are trained to recover from sudden loss of consciousness more quickly than most men. I glance at Bowen Cord. He's still out cold.

Calder staggers to me, eyes unfocused. He shakes his head thrice, as if to rattle himself back to reality. "Strathern, what in hell was that?"

"You've not learned the stun sleep yet? I thought all beginners gained such skill."

Red rises in his cheeks. "My master said I lack focus, the old fool."

I gesture to Fantine. "She lacked focus, too, Calder. You see now who the fool was."

His expression contorts in fury as he realizes what has happened to Fantine. He draws his sword and with a snarl, lunges for the downed Aevorn lying limp nearby.

"No." Metal clangs as loudly as any of Jasna Gora's bells. I block his blow with my arm. He glares at me, pushing down with the blade.

So. He'll challenge me yet again? I let sparks gather at the focusing crystal mounted in my shoulder, returning his glare as they travel up and down my arm.

Countless heartbeats go by. There's a moment that will come, when one of two things will happen--he'll strike, or I will. Either way the dolt will be dead.

Calder withdraws his sword. Jams it into it sheath.

"Bind our prisoners," I say. "I want them all alive and unmolested."

"What good will it do us to keep them breathing?" he snaps. "Especially as two of our own are gone from this world?"

"Because we must replenish our numbers, Calder, and Bowen Cord, while untrained, has skill we can use. To harness it, the only leverage we need is those to whom is heart is closely knit."

Satara recovers next. I offer a hand to help her up, and she accepts. I tell her of Fantine and that familiar, wicked smile that allures me falls apart. "We must secure the Bloodheart," she says.

My back is to Calder and the others. He's busy muttering as he binds our captives. I put my hand--the one of flesh, not metal--under her chin and gently lift.

Half the smile returns. But she pulls away. Shakes her head.

A shiver stabs through my chest. There's not been such feeling for eons. Not since I left home. I gaze upon her and wish we had another place in another time. "You could be more than just my second, you know. There's rewards the others would not--appreciate."

"Such generosity," she murmurs. "Are you not afraid Calder will take even more offense? He does fancy me."

Not more than I. Not possible. "Help him with the prisoners, then, if you're to be useful to me."

She scowls and storms off from me. So be it. If she'll not return my offer in kind, she's no more trustworthy than the rest.

A cry echoes across the stone ramparts. Rostov, who is also now awake apparently, shakes his hands with vigor and swears in fluent Rus. Smoke curls from them, and they're red with blisters.

Not surprising. He's touched the Bloodheart. There was about to be this sort of difficulty. I hadn't a clue as to what kind. But the hands of a fire-summoner have just been burned. The impossible became reality.

"What manner of sorcery is this, sire?" Calder lashes the arms and legs of the were-fox. His gesture brings a pair of soldiers clattering along with chains in hand.

"We cannot touch the Bloodheart. Its power is too great. That's what His Majesty warned me before we left Pons Aelius. So say his personal mages."

"What good is relic we cannot touch?" Rostov stares at his hands.

"Oh, I suspect there's a solution here," Calder mutters. "You'd have it to yourself, wouldn't you, Strathern. Use your metal hand and pluck our glory from our reach."

I stalk to where the Bloodheart sits discarded on the rampart, next to the bag which the boy carried. Metal fingers curl around and, without looking away from the Bloodheart's silvery surface, I grasp it.

The silver throbs a deep red. Smoke curls up from where the tips of my metal fingers touch. They glow white as the heat increases, intense enough to bake my face.

After a moment I release it. Thrust fingertips, now molten as if fresh from the smithy, in Calder's face. Bits of metal drip down and spatter on the concrete as the fingers cool. "You see?"

Calder stares at the scorched fingertips. His anger has melted into frustration; I can see it plainly. He waves his arms. "But--that boy. He had it in his bag. He held it aloft and wielded magic against us! Without gaining a mark on himself."

I rub my chin, with my true hand of course. The boy is indeed uninjured, curled there near us as if asleep on the hay. How often I would do likewise with my siblings. There was no word of this boy having summoner potential. His kin were soul-mages, but that ability does not manifest until adulthood, or so the king's mages told me.

Satara shakes her head. "I've never seen nor heard of someone so young wielding magic with such skill. Not even in the training citadel at Madeira. And certainly not two elements at once."

Rostov nods. He still stares at his scorched palms. "Is not supposed to hurt. Never hurts."

"You are correct."

"What is your plan, then?" Calder tugs on the collar fitted to the were-fox's neck. "Surely you know our next course."

I nod toward Fantine's corpse. "Wind to carry it."

"Ah."

"But now I see another way. Satara?"

She frowns. "Earth is my element, Strathern."

"Yes. Metal counts, last I studied."

"It is not the same. Metal like this is earth that has been fashioned by human hands, tampered with by mortal flesh. The spirit of it weakens. My magic cannot summon it as well as pure earth."

"I know this, too. Unfortunately, we don't have another choice, Satara, so my order is for you to make the attempt."

She nods grimly, extends both her hands. The air between them churns, suffused with a pale green glow. The Bloodheart doesn't so much as twitch.

Satara mutters an incantation. Sweat beads on her brow, and her eyes are squeezed shut. Her face is a stone mask. Fingers tremble. The glow intensifies. A hum throbs, an obnoxious sound that vibrates the body.

The Bloodheart scrapes against rock. Moves as far as my little finger. Satara twists her hands, palms down now. The stones underfoot shudder, grinding against each other. They push up against the relic, shoving at it, but it will not yield. One of the stones cracks, with bits sloughing off to either side.

The Bloodheart suddenly glows bright red, as brilliant as the western sky at sunset. It slides _back_ from Satara, right to its original position.

She sags. The glow winks out. Stones settle into place. Satara gasps, reaches for the rock wall. I make no move to provide assistance or comfort. Such idiocy has cost me too much already.

She looks at me, and shakes her head, wordless and sucking in breath.

"A fine try," Calder says sourly.

"You'd do far worse," I snap. "With your lack of focus."

In response he strikes with lightning, the bolts grasping for the Bloodheart. Yet they disappear in a hot white haze a hand's breadth away. No matter the force with which he thunders at it, the relic steadfastly ignores his assault.

Calder stops, his face red with shame, his expression stony.

Dolt. "Rouse the boy."

He yanks Luc to his feet by the shirt and cuffs him. He starts awake with a cry like a bird's alarm. He twists in Calder's grasp, but is firmly ensnared. Finally, he stops, goes slack. Calm settles over his face.

"Release him."

Calder complies. The boy stands still, not bothering to straighten his shirt. Instead dark, sorrowful eyes search the rampart around us, ignoring me and the summoners. His gaze settles on the inert forms of _Sleet_ 's crew.

"Not dead," I say. "Not yet. They will be dark to us for a full day. In the meantime, I have use for you, boy. Luc, isn't it?"

He stares at me.

I kneel before him and smile. "I came looking for you. The corsairs were enthusiastic but far from thorough about their task. Such as I warned His Majesty. You see, I know who you are--son of soulmages, kin to the keepers of the Bloodheart who were banished by their brethren and those who forswore magic. A clever place to hide a relic that will amplify the ability of one who carries it. Is that why it obeys you?"

"It doesn't." His voice is steady as a stone citadel in the face of a tempest. Soft, it is, but no less stolid. "It doesn't obey anyone."

"My man who summons fire begs to differ. I need your help, Luc. Help me carry the Bloodheart a little farther than you have."

"I don't want to help you. You hurt and kill. Just like the corsairs."

A chuckle bursts from my chest. It rolls on and on like thunder. This boy thinks what he's seen me done is vile. If he but knew of the full depravity of my sins, he'd see why I find it so amusing that he compares me to a simple corsair.

"I won't pick up the Bloodheart for you," he says.

"Do it for your captain, then. Satara, help me make my point."

She gestures with her right hand, lifting a jagged chunk of rock the size of a man's chest into the air from the stacks of rubble around us. It hovers ten feet over Bowen Cord's head.

The boy shivers. His hands clench into tiny fists. Do you desire to pummel me, boy? To mete out justice on the bad man? There is a long line in which you must wait.

I will have the Bloodheart. I have set aside too much already to arrive where I stand. Too many people turned cold with death and too many places burned by fire for me to set my quest aside. If need be I will drench every land from the Atlan Reach to the Carpathians in death.

"Luc. Let's not see them hurt. Do me this good deed. The Bloodheart will be put to a powerful use that will benefit all the kingdoms of the world."

He looks at his people, the crew of _Sleet_ , and I see tears brimming. They are more to him than the ship's hands taking him from place to place. They are friends. Kin. The love is evident.

Luc sits down. He weeps openly now, not bothering to wipe away the tears, as he reaches for the Bloodheart. Nothing happens. No scarring, no burning, no ill effects. He cradles it for a moment, and through his crying I glimpse defiance. Does he mean a strike against us?

"Calder. Rostov. Dissuade our young friend from any rash action."

They poise themselves over Cord, and the Aevorn, with their weapons ready.

The tension in the air passes. Luc stows the Bloodheart in his bag as easily as putting away a fruit. His sobbing subsides into infrequent sniffles.

The ramparts around us are silent again. I rise from beside Luc. "You've done well, boy. You will be rewarded."

My lieutenant arrives. His armor is blood-stained and smoke-smudged. He walks with a slight limp, and his expression is haggard. "Sire. We have control over the area. No further signs of the dragon. Our scouts say he has fled south."

"Good. That will teach the beast to meddle in the affairs of men." I gesture about us. "Get these prisoners aboard _Sleet_. Transfer yourself and a dozen men from _Inexorable_ for crew."

"Sire?"

If the questioning of my orders would simply cease... "Do not deprive me of my prize, Lieutenant. Carry out your orders."

"Yes, sire."

Amidst the clinking of chains from the rounding up of the prisoners I lean in and whisper to Luc, "Come along, boy. We'll get you safe and sound to your ship."

~

It's been a long time since I was at a ship's wheels. There is no comparable feeling of liberty. The wood is cold and rough against my hand, but the wind invigorates me.

It's enough to make a man forget that he hates to fly. But then, all things are in my control. They have not been so for a very long time.

_Sleet_ responds well to my touch. No hint of jealousy that another captain is steering. Cautiously, yes, because we have been foes, but a ship as proud and lovely as this will not fail to proclaim her talents because of petty human enmity. She cuts clouds with fervor.

"Sire? Captain Cord demands to see you." So my lieutenant informs me. I'm pleased to see that, this many days out of Jasna Gora, his wounds are healing. His armor is cleansed of all but the worst stains, and he wears a new crimson cloak.

"Very good. Have Calder bring him to me."

"Yes, sire."

We should make our port of destination soon. The winds have been at our backs ever since we left Jasna Gora on that dark day. The prisoners awoke nearly three days ago, and aside from the were-fox attempting to bash through his chains--unsuccessfully--the ride has been quiet.

Far below, we leave behind the eastern arm of Northamber, my home isle. At this altitude, Pons Aelius is a mere white speck on a jagged line of gray hemmed in by rolling hills of green.

When I next set foot on its streets, it shall be as a conqueror of lands and peoples.

I sweep my gaze around the fleet, ignoring the shouts of crewmen as they adjust the rigging and continue repairs on the hull. _Rattler_ and _Encampment_ have taken up positions a thousand feet below and two miles away, white sails jewel-like over the dark seas. _Inexorable_ is four miles behind us, with the dark armored warships my summoners brought escorting it to port and starboard. _Sleet_ is by far the swiftest. The skies are a brilliant blue and studded with herds of thick white clouds. The breezes are biting, getting colder by the mile, but with my cloak cinched about my neck I invite the chill on my face.

Such calm.

Luc stands at the bowsprit, under guard--Rostov and Taran. They stand a healthy distance from him, Taran favoring the leg not wrapped in a splint. Luc has the bag hanging from his shoulder, the bulge of the Bloodheart plain to all.

"Port ho!" The youth aloft on the rigging points up and to starboard.

Yes. There it is. A mere black speck on the horizon. Five thousand feet in the air. A smile spreads to the corners of my mouth.

Chains clang behind me. Cord is bound with manacles on his ankles and wrists. Dark circles drag at his eyes. His clothes rumpled and dirty. But the defiance is there in his posture--shoulders back, chin up, jaw set.

Calder bows and smirks. "Your prisoner, sire."

Insolent dog. "You're dismissed."

He leaves, but not before bashing his shoulder against Cord's.

"Welcome topside, Captain."

Cord glares at me. "Funny you'd call me that when you have your hands on my ship."

"On the contrary, Captain, this is _my_ ship. The cutter _Sleet_ is now property of His Majesty the king of Northamber, as is my prerogative under the writ His Majesty issued me. She's a fine vessel and worthy as a scout in our navy." I smile. "I address you as 'captain' as a courtesy only."

"Where is Luc? You have my people chained below. I demand to know what's become of him."

"Such hostility. One would think I hadn't let you enjoy their company, with your cohort bound together in such cozy confines amongst your cargo hold. Your cabin, by the way, is quite comfortable for a small ship such as this." I gesture forward. "The boy serves us as well as your ship does."

Cord lurches as if he's going to join Luc, but the chains arrest his progress.

"No, let's not." I send a jolt of lightning from my metal fingertips into the chains binding him.

He staggers, teeth grit, but doesn't fall. Instead he glares at me and stands firm.

"Luc was kind enough to carry the Bloodheart for us," I say. "He's done a fine job. Not a hint of mutiny. Of course, he is operating under the threat of your imminent death should he rebel."

"Where are you taking us? Why take us anywhere?"

"Because you have value to me as a summoner, Cord. You are untrained, but I have seen your potential. Your people, too, would be welcome mercenaries to the King's forces. Northamber is not picky about from which corners of the skies she gathers her servants."

"I'll not serve you or any other king. I am a free man."

"You are bound to magic. That makes you a slave. And like any slave, you must first be broken before you are of any worth."

Cord does not reply. Instead he stares off onto the horizon. "We're near an isle. I see it there. Our destination?"

"Oh, yes." I hand him the spyglass perched behind the wheels. The speck is a dark splotch on the sky, surrounded by a cloud of tinier spots hovering around it.

Cord maneuvers the spyglass, and I hear the sharp intake of breath among the rattle of chains. He has no comment now.

"This is our home, Cord. Navio Mons."

The shapes grow clearer as we approach. Ships of all sizes crowd the sky, fifty of them, including eight men-of-war the same size and make as _Inexorable_ , plus twenty of the armored warships of the newer classes. The rest are frigates and scouts of varying age. The tonnage and armament exceeds any gathered by another nation for centuries. My heart pounds. Such power.

Navio Mons is the jewel on that crown. The isle is a thousand feet across and again a thousand feet from the top of the citadel to the tip of the underside. The bottom is a long, jagged clump of gray and tan rock that reaches down toward the sea. Even in daylight copious aethershards give it an otherworldly shine. The top of the islet has been hewn into a massive fortress, walls sheer and impenetrable. Cannon ports open on all six sides of the hexagonal tower that looms four hundred feet tall, and is topped by a second, smaller tower armored with stone and metal.

"This is our future, Cord, and the future of all the world. Navio Mons will give Northamber rule over the skies and seas," I whisper.

Cord finds his voice, but it has little in the way of confidence. "Your enemies will find it. It will be besieged."

I sneer at him. "Only if they can follow her."

# THE TWENTY-NINTH CHAPTER

~

### Bowen

It is an impregnable fortress. I've never seen the likes of it.

My neck aches from craning to view the top of the walls. They are thick stone, towering far above us. Iron gratings too new to have accumulated rust secure every opening. Soldiers are everywhere, more than a dozen dozens by the time I cease counting, bedecked in the red and black insignia of Northamber. Their ranks are swollen by foul goblins, swarms of them skittering just out of reach, leering and screeching at us, flashes of fangs in the shadows.

We're marched in under guard--four soldiers at the rear, three on each side, and four in the lead. Through the gaping maw of the open portcullis, beyond the deep dark of a narrow corridor, and into the wide open center of the main tower. It is hollow as a rotted log. A circular wooden ramp spirals up the edges, with black chains as railings from the posts set every ten feet. Every so often rooms are set into the walls--some full of barrels, some full of gleaming pikes and axes, some full of men. Far below, shapes shift in the twilight of distant torches at the base of this hollow tower. A cacophony of fiendish shrieks echoes off the walls. I recall the sound, though it is a hundred times worse here: the same as the creature that attacked us at the Everflame. A valkiro, Tereth called it.

Niall glances over the edge. "There must be a hundred of them. And they're big. Bigger than the lizard we skinned."

I nod numbly. So much power accumulated here. Weapons and soldiers and foul creatures. They now have the Bloodheart on their side.

On mine? A beaten crew, and lost hopes.

Niall's neck is bound by an iron collar clamped so tight about him, he'd choke to death if he shifted form. He carries twice the chains we do. Blood stains his shirt from days old wounds, and his complexion is pale, but his face--his face has lost none of the sneer. Ariya's wings are bound behind her. She watches everything, and there's murmured words passed between her and Niall. Plans? A scheme for escape?

Vesna shuffles beside me. She smiles my way, but it is a sad expression devoid of hope. I give my most confident gaze in return. How easy it is to mask one's true feelings when the need arises.

Even Gridley is bound, dragged along by two guards with ropes to his collar and a muzzle secured by leather straps to his mouth. His limp is barely noticeable; Vesna's herbs have healed him well.

No one speaks. I know their hidden questions. Where is Luc? Where is the Bloodheart?

The ramp proceeds up at a shallow angle. It is dark inside, lit only at intervals with torches that snap flame and give off a foul stench. Above us daylight beckons through a small rectangle in the ceiling.

The ramp opens into a broad, circular room built entirely of stone. Twelve huge windows affixed with thick iron grates offer breathtaking views of the skies for miles around, views marred by the Northamber war fleet. Wooden shutters are flung open. There are raised stone benches chiseled into all the walls. Four bloody Northamber banners as big as sails hang on the wall, black crowns and silver swords emblazoned everywhere. Under those banners, arranged at the cardinal points of the compass, are cages of metal and wood fastened to stone blocks. There are three in each cluster.

Into one set of these we're herded unceremoniously as pigs. Guards push Ariya and Vesna into the left one. Four men shove Niall, while others cast me and Gridley into the rightmost. Those same guards take up places around us, fusils held ready.

Vesna gasps. In the middle of the room stands Luc.

He's on the low step of a circular dais with seven steps that is hewn of the whitest marble. It has a column of blackest obsidian that shines with reflections of the room, and reaches like a gnarled tree to the ceiling a hundred feet up. Cut through the column at the height of a man's chest is a hole.

Luc cradles the Bloodheart to his chest. It's pulsing a steady red, the throbbing of a human's heart. His eyes are dragged down by dark circles, and his face wet with tears. There's no sound save the faint shouts from the ships' crews outside, and the howl of the winds swirling around the tower.

Cloaked figures approach from either side of the dais. They are black wraiths edged in crimson. Five of them. Strathern leads them, and when they gather between our cages and the dais, he throws back his hood. Those pale brown eyes lock their gaze with mine. The red-haired beauty stands to his right, her smile bold, and the young blond man with the cruel sneer at his left. Two more: a burly, massive, silent fellow who seems descended from a bear, and a thin, rangy fellow who edges closer to the blond man.

"You've been admirable opponents," Strathern says. "Models of valor. Make no mistake: few have faced summoners of Northamber and survived."

"Excuse us if we take little solace from your praise," I say.

Niall slams his body against his cages, the chains banging a terrible racket. "Butchers!" he snarls. "You killed priests and their young! I'll feast on your guts!'"

Strathern wags a finger. Lightning jumps in a ragged bolt to Niall's cages. He yelps and releases the bars, shaking his fingers. There's a wisp of smoke in the air. "Careful. Should you shift your form I daresay you'll find your bindings far too strong to burst."

"Murderers!"

"You filth killed two of our forces!" the blond man snaps. "You'd be dead in your own pool of blood if I had my way!"

"Silence, Calder." Strathern gives him a withering glare. "Yes, we lost Etheria and Fantine. They knew the peril involved. Soulmages--and apparently the crew of Bowen Cord's _Sleet_ - are none to be trifled with."

Strathern places a hand on Luc's shoulder. My teeth grind. Cold tingles my fingers. I do not know how much ability I have. The ice fled me during my time asleep and during our voyage here. Somehow Strathern's spell that knocked us insensate damaged my skill. I hold fast to the cage bars. Yet the ice is still there, prickling beneath my skin. Murmuring the summoning, I ease cold into the bars. In my mind's eye I see the ice creeping through the metal, into the other cages, across the stone and up into not only my chains but the chains of my companions.

Is it imaginary? My fetters seem colder. But senses can lie.

Gridley whimpers and paces the cell. He lifts his feet high with his steps.

"I wanted you to see this, Cord. To see what the Bloodheart is truly meant to do. Young Luc is our kind volunteer to our cause. He alone can wield the Bloodheart...for now." Strathern smiles, and musses Luc's hair. "Indeed, none of us could touch it, as you can see by the damage done to my metal hand. He also told us none of you could hold it, Captain. Do you know why?"

I frown. Niall was injured when he tried to take it from the altar at Applemont. I, however, did touch the Bloodheart. As did Vesna.

Yet, with different results.

"Tell them what you told me, Luc," Strathern says.

"I'm sorry." Luc is weeping now. "Father told me never to tell anyone. He said he didn't want anyone to know that only children of the Most High can hold it."

Only those children? Or did he mean something more than a young lad or lass? What does it portend for Vesna and I?

"Surprisingly simple. All this time, all this searching for a relic of power that would bring one kingdom to rule the skies and the seas and we, fools that we were, nearly destroyed the person that would let us bring that search to its conclusion. All this time, I saw the Most High as a myth of deluded, banished summoners which they used to explain powers none could fathom." Strathern shakes his head. "If we'd killed this boy at Applemont we'd have lost our prize."

Luc's expression hardens. "The Bloodheart won't serve you. You'll never be stronger."

Strathern sighs. "Yes, you are as foolish as those soulmage dolts in this regard. Our relic is a tool, Luc, to be directed like any other form of magic wielded by any other summoner. Place the Bloodheart in the column."

"No!" The ice surges from me, and it takes all my concentration to make certain it's still creeping into the bars and not blasting forth. "Luc, don't!"

Strathern snarls and sends a bolt of lightning my way.

The pain is unbearable. Thunder booms in my ears. The stench of my clothing and skin burning is foul. When the crackle of the bolt fades, I hear shouts from my companions and threats rejoined from the soldiers and summoners.

"Enough!" Strathern's voice is as loud as the lightning strike. Bolts writhe up and down his metal arm. "Enough of these foul delays, and your insistent interference! Boy, you put that thing into the column or your friends will be roasted faster than a boar on a spit!"

Luc steps up to the column, trudging his feet. The summoners watch in rapt attention.

Niall kneels on his side of the bars, near enough to me to whisper, "Are you well?"

I cough. The burns are not as bad as I thought--reddening of the skin in places, though patches of my tunic are charred. "Cooked, mildly."

Niall grins, and holds up manacled hands. "These fetters are all that keep me from tearing those fiends apart."

I stagger upright, and place my hands on the bars between us. Frost slithers across them. "You know, I've been working on that."

"Such was my wonder. The iron is getting colder. So's the floor."

"When we're ready, watch for a signal from me," I murmur. "Pass word to Ariya."

"Already done. I knew you'd be up to something, Bowen."

Luc is at the top of the steps. He hesitates, looks at us, and mouths the words: "Forgive me."

He places the Bloodheart in the gap.

It stops pulsing. My breath stops along with it.

With a sharp crack, the Bloodheart ignites a brilliant white, blinding as the sun, shooting dazzling rays tinged with rainbow colors from its entire surface. The rays trace paths over the floor, the walls and the ceiling. None strike humans.

The light creeps up and down the obsidian column, making it as transparent as glass. It writhes and twists, like a tree caught in a windstorm, a thing very much alive.

Stone vibrates under my feet, and chains rattle on my legs. Soon the entire chamber quakes, bringing us to our knees. Even the summoners flail about for a handhold. After an intolerable stretch the tremors subside into a low rumble. Something--else is different. Something I cannot place.

A breeze from the windows ruffles my hair, and I cannot believe my senses.

Strathern's laughter is deep, rumbling from the gut.

"Are you mad?" Calder shouts. "Your pet relic is going to destroy us, and you'll revel in our deaths?"

Strathern shakes his head. The chuckles subside. "Ah, Calder, as blind and deaf as usual. The world would be a far more unpredictable place without the constant of your idiocy." He gestures to the windows.

The clouds move. Much faster than the drifting I saw when we arrived at Navio Mons, and when I spied them as we were brought into this chamber. The astonishment hits me with a physical blow.

The clouds move because we move.

I can feel it under my feet, and in the depths of my gut. I know it as sure I were behind the wheels of _Sleet_ again. Slowly, ponderously, Navio Mons sails the skies.

"It cannot be." The red-headed woman has discerned this, too, because she stares at the window a spell before grasping onto Strathern's metal arm. "An isle cannot move."

"Yet, it does. All things are possible now, Satara." He puts hands on her shoulders and smiles broadly. "This is His Majesty's vision come true. Navio Mons is no longer a fortress anchored to the sky. She is a warship, the mightiest ever known."

There is more silence. The awe is plainly visible on all faces. Except the youth Calder. He scowls. "Where is the tiller? The rise wheel and the sails? Will you push us where we need to travel, sire?" He spits the title out as if it were a vulgarity.

Strathern considers him with an expression that chills my bones even more than the ice summoned. It's the look of a man weighing his options for disposing of a pest. But rather than taking any rash action, Strathern steps up the dais to Luc. "This is our helmsman, Calder. We need only direct him."

Luc's eyes are blazing white, the same color as they were when he summoned magic, and the same color as the Bloodheart now. He nods, his face blank of emotion. "I see - the whole world. All the places. A big map, and I can touch it. The Bloodheart shows me."

"Good. Very good. Take us to Zadar." Strathern smiles our direction. "The king's order stands: we begin our conquest of the world with the place where all nations meet, where defiance is most easily and publicly stomped upon. We will bring our boot heel down and put the fire out."

"You cannot! The merchants will never stand for it!" Vesna reaches through the bars. I know she longs for her dagger. Her lips curl in an angry sneer. "You can't rule a place that will hate you so!"

"Rule it? My dear, I don't intend to rule," Strathern says. "I plan to kill every living soul on those isles."

# THE THIRTIETH CHAPTER

~

### Strathern

I LET THAT SINK IN. They're all stunned to silence. Even the obstinate were-fox ceases growling. Good. I have their attention.

"Don't think I'm without mercy, Cord. I can be persuaded to alter my plans. You need only swear your allegiance to the Crown of Northamber."

Cord scowls. He's hanging onto those bars for dear life, as if they'll save him. "Join a butcher like you, with a madman for a king? You'd have me join your armies of fell beasts and enslaved summoners? Never."

"Never. How many times have I been told such?" I gesture at my summoners. "You see their power, Cord. I have seen your latent ability. You can be harnessed as a fine weapon in the service of His Majesty. Given command of your own warship--Sky's fire, an entire squadron if you like. You've been without proper training and mastery for too long. Let me show you just how a summoner should wield his gifts."

"You try hard to sell me on your cause. What of my people?"

You see? This is what I knew of Bowen Cord when he first jumped off the safety of his ship to rescue the woman for whom his heart longs. He's a man of principle. A man who doesn't desert his companions. Loyalty is his key virtue.

What a weakling.

"They can serve, as well. Fine mercenary and spy potential. Their prowess in a fight is indisputable."

"In return you'll spare Zadar."

"Yes."

Cord's mouth twists into a smirk. "I don't believe a word of it."

Calder snickers. If that boy weren't such a source of raw fury in battle I would take great pleasure in searing him inside out with lightning

"Is that what you think?"

"I know it. You've manipulated and killed your way across the skies to get to us," Cord says. "You slaughtered the soulmages at Jasna Gora. One of them was a friend--a brother to me. I would never trust your word when his blood is fresh on your fingers."

"Fine, then." Leverage is needed. I beckon Calder forward. He's the perfect one for this. "Kill the women. Start with the Aevorn. Take your time with Juric."

Cord shouts his protest at me but it's lost in the howl of the were-fox. He lunges at the bars. Two guards thrust the muzzles of their fusils forward.

Calder storms toward the women's cage, his cloak billowing like an angry cloud. Lightning crackles around both his fists. He'll make a mess of the women, I'm sure, but Cord is being uncooperative. I need to ensure his compliance. Force--or rather, the threat of it--is an acceptable way to secure such.

He unleashes twin strikes at the Aevorn woman. They wrap around her, stabbing into her skin, enveloping her wings in a firestorm of light. Her back arches, and she grits her teeth. There are no tears I can see, nor does she cry out.

Juric shies away, screaming at Calder to stop but not daring to intervene lest she's struck too. The were-fox reaches for Aevorn through the bars--the fool--and is thrown against the opposite side of the cage.

Calder grins, ramps up the lightning strikes. I glance at Cord. He's in agony over her pain, I can see it. The way his fingers grip the bars of his cage. The way the knuckles are white with--

No. They're not white. They have a bluish tinge to them, a luminescence. I hear a whispered word... _Glacii_.

"Niall!" Cord shouts.

The were-fox transforms. His shirt tears under the force of his expanding flesh and muscle. He's fully formed into a red and white beast with slavering fangs. He howls, an ungodly cry that reverberates off the roof and sends the guards backing away from the cage. The iron collar resists, bulges--and shatters like glass. Every bit of metal that's broken is shiny with frost.

He smashes through the bars as if they were icicles. Within a space of heartbeats he's torn open the two men nearest him. He breaks the cages to either side of him.

Damn that Bowen Cord!

"Calder, stop him!" Satara and I move to protect Luc, as one, without consulting each other.

Calder turns his lightning aside and it singes Niall's fur. But doesn't stop him. Doesn't even _stall_ him. The beast plows into him and seizes his cloak. He flings Calder to the nearest wall, twenty feet away. Calder slams into it with a sickening crunch and slumps to the floor.

There's gunfire, and clouds of smoke from the infernal weapons obscure my view worse than any storm I've encountered on sea or sky. The sounds of metal clanking against stone ring out, above the echoes of the gunshots. It's not until then I realize how cold the room is, how much of a chill there is in the air. Cord's crafty, I'll grant.

I lash out with lightning but there's no mark to hit, no target to burn. Rostov lumbers into the fight, flinging fireballs. They miss Niall, who has a screaming soldier's arm gripped between his fangs. A shot slices through Rostov's arm, sending him staggering.

Bowen Cord sprints out of the smoke. He and the cursed mongrel of his. He's liberated a wheellock pistol from one of the guards, and casts it aside, the wisp of white smoke from its muzzle curling a corkscrew. He shoulders into a nearby guard who is fumbling with the mechanism on his fusil. Cord strikes him in the stomach, deep below the ribs. He wrenches the fusil out of the man's hand and uses it as a club across the fore of his helmet, crumpling the metal.

Cord's chains are gone, too; only the bindings remain about his wrists and ankles. The muzzle keeping his hound's mouth safely shut must have been broken off, because the mutt latches on to the ankle of another soldier and tears him off his footing. The soldier slams down onto the concrete.

Vesna Juric grapples with Taran, holding fast to his wrists as he blazes a stream of fire clear up to the ceiling on snaking tendrils. He kicks her away, and brings the fire down at her. It sears her clothing, making her screams pierce my ears. But the Aevorn woman hammers into Taran with her chains, still attached to her arm, yet wielded like a steel whip that sprays fragments of ice.

There is smoke and fire everywhere. Yet I will not try the stun again. If I subdue Cord again, he will be twice as dangerous as before. This has to end.

Pity. I had great hopes for him.

The dog lunges up the dais, racing for Satara just as it did at Jasna Gora. She uses her summoning to yank stones from the dais steps, chunks of marble that she pelts at him. But he's far too fast, and evades them as if they were no more inconvenient than puddles in a muddy street. With a pair of leaps he's slammed onto her chest, biting and snarling, she using her arms to defend from his fangs.

A white hot arrow of lightning arcs across the room, striking the beast.

It howls piteously, sparks showering the dais and Satara both. The dog is flung from her and down to the base of the steps. No movement. White fur charred black. Steam rising from the body.

It's Calder's doing. Face twisted in fury, he's pulled himself off the floor where Niall mashed him and vented his rage on Cord's hound.

"Gridley!" Cord has a blade now; from which soldier he's swiped it I know not. He buries it in his opponent's gut up to the hilt, shoves him off with a kick of his boot. Blood drips from the blade. His countenance is one I would find fearsome, if such a man could scare me.

He mounts a savage attack, pelting me with an ice storm of razor sharp shards. I use my cloak to deflect a fair few; the rest a web of lightning melts into a harmless shower. One strong bolt I send coursing down the tip of his sword, but he's fast, faster than I expect. Ice shoots forth, coursing up his hand across the hilt and blasting out from the blade.

I press home my attack, pounding at Cord with bursts of lightning even as he fends them off with blue-white spheres of ice that fly forth from his fingertips. We close the distance between us.

He slashes suddenly with sword. I block the blow with my arm, and draw my own blade. His onslaught is nothing I can't handle, but I give him points for ferocity. With each savage thrust he makes I parry neatly and counterattack. Cord is nimbler than I credited him; he slips out of reach of my own blows and return fast enough for his own swipes.

Calder should not have killed the dog. It's made Cord sloppy, yes, but it's also added fuel to his fire. I could have kept it from Satara without its death. Now Cord is useless to me, for he's consumed with vengeance. Calder's ineptitude has fouled my plans.

Calder uses both hands to hammer Niall with a double burst of lightning just as the were-fox leaps upon him. He's sent tumbling end over end.

The Aevorn woman soars out of the sights of a soldier, his fusil exploding in smoke and fire. She loops behind him and stabs him between his shoulder blades with the very dagger lodged in his belt. Rostov goes full bore for her with fire but she is quick as a lightning bolt, that harpy. She evades the blaze, which instead immolates the soldier she's just impaled. Taran is bloodied on the floor, senseless I suspect, and Juric has launched herself at another soldier, having added a saber to her arsenal of chains.

By the skies. Where would we be had Cord a dozen men in his crew instead of these three hellions? At least the boy Luc is still welded to the Bloodheart, his eyes blazing white as stars. Navio Mons still moves. I can feel her shifting underfoot.

Cord says nothing as we duel. His only sounds are grunts of exertion and the clang of his steel. Out of the corner of my eye I spy Satara rising to her feet. She nods and raises three chunks of marble into the air, each the size of my arm.

I strike at Cord, who dodges the blow but only just. My blade rends his cloak. He lashes wildly, but instead of blocking I duck under his sword, skidding on the floor.

Satara's missiles streak overhead. The first two slam into Cord's left arm, the third catches him across the chest. It's enough to knock the man over. But he lets fly a spasm of blue light that slams Satara, encasing her legs in ice.

I bring my blade to his throat. He's shivering, panting. His fingers are coated with frost.

"Surrender now and I give the order no harm will come to your people."

"Gridley is dead," he says through gritted teeth. I see his anguish. Calder is a fool. "Your promises mean nothing."

Before my blade can so much as twitch cannon fire booms outside the walls. Cannon fire--from my ships? Those guarding Navio Mons?

My lieutenant bursts into the room, flanked by more soldiers. His hair is unkempt, his cloak missing, and his uniform sullied. His mouth flaps wide open as the depths of a cave. "Sire! Sire! We're under attack!"

Of all the stupid incompetent ...

A roar shakes the room.

It is deafening, even though I can plainly tell it is beyond the walls. All combat around me ceases. Even Cord looks up, eyes wide, ignoring his imminent peril.

"Strathern." Satara's teeth chatter. "What is it?"

The roar is repeated, closer, louder, and accompanied by dozens more that sound far softer. More cannon fire. Shouts of alarm from the ships outside the windows. Through the openings facing south, I can plainly see our foremost warships sailing to meet a dark cloud that resolves itself into the silhouettes of flapping wings and the glow of distant flames.

Dragons. Again.

"You can't win."

The boy speaks? His eyes still glow bright, and his hands grip the Bloodheart, but he is facing me. Looking right through me with his gaze. It's as if my soul has been uncovered for all the isles of the sky to see. As if I'm pushed off the rim and falling to the ocean.

For once, and only once, I'm terrified.

Luc raises his right hand to the ceiling. Blinding lightning, coruscating with green, shoots forth in a swath. An earsplitting thunder rattles my teeth. The lightning splashes across the roof and the upper wall, shaking it, loosening stones, until a section wide enough to berth a man-of-war and its sails explodes outward.

Dragons and warships collide in midair.

# THE THIRTY-FIRST CHAPTER

~

### Bowen

BENATH IS HERE. HE DID not come alone. There have to be twenty large dragons attacking along with him. One, I see, is Tereth. His wound hampers his flying, but he's no less vicious for it, unleashing gouts of flame at the nearest frigate. Its return cannon fire goes far too wide. Tereth's flame ignites half the sails on the forward mast.

The dragons are all adults, all male, their crowns resplendent, roaring and flashing fangs. Their wings pound the air in overlapping rhythm, and I swear I can feel the gusts from where I lay prone on the floor.

Benath barrels into the middle of the Northamber fleet, veering suddenly for the nearest massive warship. Its hull is black wood and banded together with iron armor. One of the harpoons affixed to bow shoots out with a whistle, but Benath arcs over the top of the sails, letting the harpoon fly harmlessly below his tail. He slams his entire girth down through the sails, ripping cloth and splintering masts. Gunfire ripples across the deck from dozens of muskets, shrouding Benath's claws in smoke. He bellows a stomach-churning roar and slams both legs deep into the hull. Wood cracks with the sound of thunder, snapping and splintering, until he's torn the ship clean in half.

A glittering green object floats serenely up out of the wreckage, dragging along bits of metal and wood. Benath blasts both halves of the ship with fire and lets go. They plummet like comets, men's screams trailing them far out of sight.

With that devastating attack, the frozen tableau around me in the tower's uppermost chamber snaps into motion. I release the ice stabbing through my hands. A blue glow smacks Strathern dead center to his chest, tossing him across the dais with a chunk of ice rapidly spreading across his tunic.

Gridley. The fiend Calder killed Gridley. I scramble across the floor, staying low to the stone as a musket ball whines overhead. Smoke still rises in tendrils from his fur.

"Gridley? Gridley!"

He doesn't stir. I rub his back, and curse. His body is hot. Far warmer than what it should be. Is there a heartbeat?

Ice cracks nearby. The red-haired woman, Satara, chips away at the ice binding her legs with a piece of marble. It won't hold her long. But she's preoccupied by the gunfire and swords clanging and, with smoke drifting in clouds across the room, doesn't seem to see me.

A whine. Gridley's head moves, ever so slowly. He blinks.

"Gridley. Good lad." I rub under his chin.

His head goes limp. There's no breath, no pulse, no life.

Instead of rage, instead of sadness, everything in me goes cold. My heart has iced over. It may well not be beating. I cannot feel it. I cannot feel anything, except for the icy pain throbbing in my fingers, my hands, my wrists, my arms.

Every though of treating the summoning as a gift instead of a curse flees me. I care not for whether it is a warped reflection of true magic.

Twice. That's twice Strathern and his vile minions have taken from me. No more.

No. More.

I whirl and face Satara. She sees me, and her eyes go wide. Good. I will not face anyone in a fight without their face to mine.

There's a whoosh, and something sears my side. I cry out in pain. Smoke. Fire. I cough, choking. Tear my cloak from my shoulders. It's engulfed in flame.

The big bear of a bearded man. He thunders at me, releasing twin fireballs each the size of my head.

No thinking. No planning. I step toward him, fling out one, two streaks of ice that flash freeze and extinguish the fireballs. He's on me a moment later, swinging a punch with a meaty fist that trails a long jagged blade of fire.

I block it with my right arm, glowing blue and encased in a heavy shield of ice. With my left I jab out and upward with a long frozen blade that extrudes from my palm through my fingers. It stabs deep into his chest.

My shout surprises even me.

He gasps, and sags forward. I shove the ponderous weight off, snapping the ice blade in half.

"Rostov!" Satara ceases her assault on my frozen prison about her legs. She's hammering me with rubble from the collapsed ceiling.

Somehow I form a shield, not a mere encasement for my arm but a long and rectangular slab, glowing blue and forged of ice thick as the breadth of my hand. The rocks bounce off, gouging craters and sending sprays of shards. They pummel me with such force that I'm on my knees again. Eyes pinched shut, I mutter my incantation and will what I wish.

I hear her scream until the sound is muffled and choked off. It fades out completely. Ice snaps and piles up. I exhale, my efforts spent.

Satara is sealed inside a mound of ice. Her beauty is even more awe-inspiring encased under blue-white. Arms are outstretched, fingers curled. The green glow fades out of her eyes. So does the color in her cheeks. She suffocates inside the ice.

My insides recoil at what I've done. This is the danger of which Evan warned--succumbing to the dark clutches that would have me use ice-summoning to kill, to destroy, to impose my will on others. This is not wielding magic with a clean heart. This is abomination.

An agonizing jolt twists my body. The pain builds inside me until I scream, dropping my ice defenses. The damaged shield smashes to bits.

Calder. He's walking toward me, pumping a snaking bolt of lightning into me even as he holds Niall in midair in his own prison of crackling heat and light. "Don't rush yourself, Cord! You'll join your simpering mutt soon enough!"

He says more but the words are lost amidst my own cries, the crack and thunder of the lightning bolts, and the continued gunfire from the few soldiers using the downed sections of wall as barricades. I twist around, each muscle blazing with pain, willing myself to face my attacker. He has a look of supreme confidence on his face, arrogance of youth not yet tempered by time and loss.

Someone slips in behind Calder. His expression freezes, eyes widen, and his mouth goes slack from its sneer. Blood trickles from the left corner, dribbling down his chin. He pitches directly forward like a tree with an ax laid at the roots.

A dagger is pinned precisely to the base of his skull, the same ornate dagger Strathern gifted to Vesna.

The lightning cuts out, releasing me from pain and dropping me back into comfort. Muscles twitch and bones ache.

Vesna wrenches the dagger free from Calder and crouches beside me. She's pale, bloodied and stained with dust. She gasps, her arms shaking. "Bowen! You're hurt."

"Such is my lot this voyage." I wince. "We have to get to Luc. Get him away from that thing."

"Hold tight." She smiles and winks. "Try not to catch any musket fire or any more lightning bolts."

I glance beyond the still body of Calder. The cold in me is melting. My hands shake. Ice drops in chunks. Where are my crew?

I find them amidst the debris from the collapsed wall, dueling with the remnants of the Northamber guards. The last of the summoners, the thin man, grasps at his leg with bloody fingers whilst flinging the occasional fireball at a mound of blocks halfway across the room. Five guards and a sixth man, the one who shadowed Strathern everywhere, shoot the same direction.

Niall is slumped on the floor, shifted to his human form, behind those stones. Nasty bruises discolor his skin. Musket balls ping off the lumps of wall around him. He nods at me, and takes a break from panting to grin.

Ariya alights next to him. She's bleeding heavily, and pale skin is as white as the marble around us. But the silver in her eyes is none duller. She wields a musket and fires it with stunning accuracy. The ball catches a soldier in his helmet. She ducks beside Niall to reload as he aims a pistol over the barricade.

Strathern lies insensate beneath a mound of ice.

Outside the walls, dragons wheel close by, setting fires to anything they can find. Terrible, high-pitched shrieks join the cacophony of thunderous roars and rolling cannon fire--the shrieks of the valkiros. The vile creatures, with desiccated bodies and ragged leather wings, are black insects against the dragons' grand blue and white hides. They cling to Benath as mosquitoes, slashing at him, most drawing no blood I can see. A pair of dragons fall, dragging a swarm with them, trailing green blood and black smoke. How many more have fallen? I cannot tell, but their ranks appear thinned. Crews from a man-of-war wreathed in fire cheer in exultation. A tremendous explosion rattles the walls; two ships have collided, and their powder magazines must have caught, because there's nothing left but a mash of wood ignited into black clouds of smoke and bright orange flames.

I half-walk, half let Vesna drag me up the dais to Luc. My throat is burned, my voice raspy and strange to my ears. "Release it, lad! Let's leave here!"

"I can't. The black thing won't let me take it." He sounds strained, the calm gone.

"Then leave it. You're the one we need to save! Without you they can't use it!"

"It can't stay with them! I won't let it. Father wouldn't want it." He looks at me, eyes aglow with that unnerving white. But it's still his face, kind as ever.

"Please, Luc! Come with us." I stretch out my hand for him.

Luc removes his right hand from the Bloodheart. Tiny fingers brush mine, startlingly warm. "Make it stop, Bowen."

A gunshot explodes.

I never hear the footsteps, nor the click of the wheellock being primed. Smoke bursts around us. The ball hits Luc square in the heart. Blood blossoms like a flower in the field. Light winks out from his eyes, and for a moment, there is the familiar brown. His gaze goes vacant and he slumps onto the Bloodheart. The white lights flicker out, and the column fades to its original obsidian sheen.

I whirl, facing our attacker. All I get is a glimpse of Strathern bringing the stock of his wheellock pistol down on me before my vision shatters in pain and light.

Vesna screams at him, slashing with her dagger. Strathern catches her wrist and twists hard enough it snaps as loud as the gunshots still echoing around the room. Her screams rise an octave and she falls to her knees.

Strathern holds her wrist in a grip so firm his knuckles are as white as the ivory dais. He drops the pistol and places his metal hand over my head. Heat from the lightning jumping between outstretched fingers bakes my hair. The fingers are ruined, half-melted.

"Interference. Constant, unrelenting, interference." There's ice still stuck to his chest, and a coldness in his glare that chills me worse than any magic. "I'm through with it."

The fury and grief mingle in my heart. "Why did you kill him? Luc was innocent! He did no wrong."

Strathern nods. "That is why I killed him."

He discards Vesna, and shoves Luc's body aside. Free of obstacles, he touches the Bloodheart with his true hand.

White light flares to life again--this time tinged with crackling bolts of red lightning. The column glows, and a sudden lurch beneath my feet sends me staggering. If the fortress isle of Navio Mons was sailing under Luc's guidance, it is soaring twice as fast now.

Strathern doesn't cry out in pain. He holds fast to the Bloodheart. When he looks at me, his eyes are brilliant with a hideous red, glowing as coals in the dark depths of a dying fire.

"For a brave fighter, Cord, you lack foresight." His voice is a hideous choir of altos and tenors, sounding as metal dragged across stone. "The legends tell that only the blood of the innocent, the truly innocent follower and faithful of the Most High, can power the Bloodheart and work its submission."

Vesna is in a heap on the floor, sobbing. I enfold her in my arms. Strathern traces a lazy path across the relic. When he holds up his hand, it is smeared with the deep crimson of spilled blood.

Luc's blood.

Strathern chuckles. "Oh, yes. You see it now? The Bloodheart is _mine_ to control. Mine to command. When I take this beautiful vessel to Zadar, I will personally incinerate every soul standing there, and burn down every building. My lightning's reach is unstoppable."

There's a sword nearby. Resting on the dais steps. Can I reach it and stop him?

"You would not believe what I can see. How far I can see." He gazes out above our heads, through the yawning gap Luc blasted in the wall. "You cannot believe the power I wield."

He flings a lightning bolt out from his metal hand. It's ten times larger than anything I've seen him send, a churning, coruscating flare of heat and sound that tears through the air. It bangs out into the sky with the crack of a hundred cannons and hits a large, scarred dragon. The creature dies with a hideous, gurgling scream that cuts off into blessed silence. A cloud of ash smears the sky in his place.

Strathern's laughter rises.

I lunge for the sword, but I'm far too slow. Strathern's red bolts pin me down, searing at every hair and muscle in my body. My yells are more deafening than that thunder burst that accompanies his strike.

In the midst of pain, I hear a shouted warning, feel a rush of wind, and see a flash of white. Ariya. She grapples with Strathern, a blade in her hand, and is able to plunge it into his side.

I have to help her. I have to stop this. Luc asked me so. The cold builds in me. I urge it on, and when I cannot will it any stronger, I cry out in pain and desperation.

Strathern doesn't flinch. He strikes Ariya with two quick blows, one to her midsection and one to her throat. She gasps for breath, choking.

Strathern yanks the dagger from his side and with a savage growl, slits her throat.

There's blood everywhere. Ariya stumbles in it. Her wings are stained red. She falls away from the dais.

The most awful howl I've ever heard rends my ears.

Niall leaps the barricade, shifting into his fox form. He ignores the three musket balls that punch through his arms and chest, and the sword blade that stabs through his leg. He lands amidst the remaining soldiers, right in front of Strathern's lackey. The man calmly slashes with his sword.

Niall grabs the blade in his bare hand, snaps it in half as a twig, and with a roar both anguished and outraged, tears the man's head from its shoulders.

He's quick and savage, shredding the men around him to pieces even as he absorbs grievous wounds. Their screams end abruptly.

Strathern levels his hand at Niall.

Suddenly the ice is there, pounding at my restraint, clamoring to be freed. I've never felt so cold. So controlled. I rise, my veins frozen solid and my heart as cold as the depths of the hardest winter, and unleash a blast of pure blue light and white ice at him.

A single shard the length of my arm and sharp as a sword's blade on both edges pierces Strathern's chest. It cuts clean through, punching out his back and shattering in a spray of shimmering ice on the far wall.

He stares at me, the red light fading. Color drains from his face. His falls to his knees.

"It is finished," I tell him.

"You ... think so? The king has more summoners than you know. I ... will not be the last...to come for the Bloodheart." Strathern collapses on his side. His eyes stare at nothing.

There's a sudden stillness in the room. No more fighting. It's broken only by the sound of Niall's weeping. He staggers to us, dragging a limp leg sodden with blood. He's pierced by innumerable wounds, matting his fur. He doesn't bother reverting into the shape of a man. Instead he prostrates himself over Ariya's still form. Despite her fatal injury she looks more angelic than ever. He brushes blond hair from her face, and with one massive, clawed hand, eases her eyes closed.

"It should have been me. It should have been me before her." Niall cradles her gently to his chest. He rocks on his knees, his tears mingling with the dirt and blood on his face, tracing clean tracks on red and white fur.

Luc. The lad trusted in me. I failed him. He wanted me to end this. But I could not keep him safe. Vesna, bless her, removes my cloak and wraps Luc in it.

Niall looks at me. "How do we destroy that thing?"

"I don't know." Yet there's an answer beckoning, like a loved one waving from the open door of home after a long trip abroad. I step up to the Bloodheart. It pulses red, the white lights long gone, its surface still slick with Luc's blood. Navio Mons is adrift under my feet, rudderless. Was Strathern lying? Are there really more summoners who would twist this relic to their dark purposes?

Do I dare risk that?

"If anything happens, Vesna--" I touch the side of her face. "If I do anything like they did, or become as mad as Strathern, promise you will put your dagger through my heart. You have to."

Vesna is crying too. She nods, and presses into me for a kiss.

Outside the battle rages on. Benath regroups his dragons but the cloudships numbers have grown. Goblins fling themselves in suicidal assaults from the rigging onto the backs of the beasts, and valkiros dive for whatever weak points beneath dragon scales they can find. Half the dragons are nowhere to be seen. Neither are more than twenty ships. The dragons are slowing, their fires weaker and sporadic.

They will fall.

"Vesna. I love you." I kiss her again. "Remember that always."

"I love you, Bowen. Do what you must."

I release her.

And reach for the Bloodheart.

# THE THIRTY-SECOND CHAPTER

~

I can see magic.

It's everywhere. Around me, and in me. A swirling, rushing current of light and shadow, colors of every sheen, mingling and crashing.

Silence such as I've never experienced embraces me. So... warm. And power. Small wonder Strathern was infatuated by it. I feel--I can do _anything_. I can envelope the Northamber ships in waves of fire. I can incinerate the valkiros in webs of lightning, and freeze the goblins in a storm of sleet.

All magic will do my bidding.

Something draws me from the precipice. The throbbing anger subsides, into a calm and peace that brings to mind the heat of the sun through my window on a winter's morn. The day breaks through darkness.

I gasp, and the rage evaporates.

The Bloodheart pulses as the sun beneath my fingers. Niall and Vesna are silhouettes of their vibrant selves. The bodies of the dead are dark outlines in the riotous background. So much given. So much taken. Gridley. Ariya. Luc.

My Cassia.

The first rule of magic is there as a constant curb. The dead cannot be returned to us. They cannot return from whence they've gone.

So why is Luc standing there on the other side of the clear column?

He looks as whole and happy as the first night I found him in Applemont. Truly, it was he who found me. "You are dead...aren't you?"

He nods. "I am. But I'm well."

"How can that be?"

"I'm home. So I can't come back to you. I can meet, just for a little bit."

"What am I to do with the Bloodheart? You asked me to stop this. I tried, but there is so much death and darkness. What can one man do?"

A new light flares into existence behind him. It pains me to look upon it, yet it invites me in. I feel--vile, yet whole. It glows with a tinge of rainbow colors about the edges.

It slowly takes the shape of a man. Three men? My vision blurs and warps as I stare.

"Bowen." Luc touches the Bloodheart from the other side. "You can see it. Believe in Him. You can end this. Make it stop."

He fades away.

His words echo in my mind. I feel magic within me. It's leashed and awaiting my command. I grip the Bloodheart with both hands and whisper the words of the ice summoning.

A terrible cold, more powerful than any I've used before, pulses through my hands. Ice immediately enshrouds the Bloodheart. Yet it melts away as fast as it builds.

Lightning? I let the phrase Strathern uttered pass my lips. Intense bolts crack from my hands, earsplitting thunder accompanying the blasts. The Bloodheart is unscathed.

My body is exhausted. It feels as if the life is draining out of me, my very soul being drawn out in pieces. I'm doing this wrong. I cannot destroy it.

I tack sails and use earth summoning against the column that holds the relic. It shivers, shakes but does not budge from its place. Whatever the column is, it throbs with a power that rivals the Bloodheart.

I open my eyes again and stare in awe at the fields of magic stretching before me and around me in all directions. No matter how I command them, they are not strong enough to rid the skies of this relic. It must be something much more catastrophic.

Then it hits me. The idea makes me chilled to the core. I reach out through the Bloodheart, reversing its flow of magic, and find what I'm looking for.

Aethershards.

The huge ones that hold aloft Navio Mons, the small ones that keep the cloudships of the Northamber fleet flying...they extrude things that look like threads of green light, tethering them to the fields of magic. It is all connected, a tapestry of power unseen by man.

I know now what must be done.

The Bloodheart lets me touch them, but there are so many, I cannot select which to handle and which to not. Some will escape. I push out with my will, praying for strength and begging for forgiveness for what I am about to do.

I understand now. The Bloodheart was meant to protect the innocent from evil not by exerting magic against magic, but by taking power away from those who misuse it. It amplifies summoning, yes, but it is also a siphon.

It is the only thing that can make magic cease.

Finally, the Bloodheart shudders. A red sphere of light explodes from its center, spreading out and expanding as a bubble. It punches through me and ripples across, growing larger and larger. Through the relic I see it expand until it encompasses Navio Mons, the entire isle and all the Northamber ships arrayed in battle against the dragon.

The Bloodheart is dark. I push with all my might for ice, water, fire, anything but no magic comes. My body feels strange, as if something were emptied. And the relic feels...like metal. No more a source of power or control than the hilt of my sword. It is dead.

The green threads are severed. Every aethershard within a mile of this room fades from green to a lifeless quartz. Each has no more magic inherent than a lump of sand.

Luc is there, in my mind's eye, whether real or imagined I do not know. All he says is, _Run_.

Just like that, everything begins to fall.

~

We struggle through the fortress, which is largely abandoned. Anyone we encounter is running away, yelling and searching for escape. The ramps tilt at insane angles. Stones crack and split, raining down debris.

Niall refuses to leave Ariya's body. He shields her from blows of rock, the muscles of his fox form bulging, and urges us forward. I lead Vesna, hunting for an exit.

Where is _Sleet_?

Goblins race right past us, thundering down the ramp. They ignore us and bolt for a door at the bottom of the ramp. Suddenly everything slips to the right. Vesna loses her footing and slides off the ramp into empty air. I have her wrist. With a tug that pops bone in my hand, I pull her close.

Three goblins fall, shrieking into nothing, until they hit bottom far below. The rest ignore their comrades.

We burst out the main corridor, dodging falling stones. All around is chaos. Cloudships drop from the sky in uncontrolled dives. Cries of men doomed to their deaths echo throughout the air. They will stay with me forever.

The dragons take advantage to soar higher, regroup. I count nine, including Benath. Whether more have survived, I do not know.

"Bowen! There she is!" Niall points to a high platform halfway around the tower of Navio Mons.

_Sleet_ is there, lashed to the platform, and riding out the collapsing walls. There's nary I can do--drained of magic, bereft of the Bloodheart, I can only watch as her timbers split ad her sails tear. In moments my _Sleet_ is reduce to splinters. They're lost through the wisps of cloud on their way to the ocean's waves.

My life falls with those pieces.

Beneath us the ground trembles. Great rifts open. The tower is falling to pieces, huge stones toppling down, smashing walls and bashing walkways. Great gashes open up. Slabs of earth rip away. The shaking knocks us down--Vesna first, her arms dragging me down, and Niall falling with Ariya still in his grasp. Dirt and rocks rain down upon us. I do my best to shield Vesna from the debris.

Everything drops out from underneath.

We tumble through the clouds, wind howling in my ears. Clothing flaps the same as _Sleet_ 's sails under a headwind. Falling. Over the edge.

I've seen it happen enough. Know what will happen. Have heard the stories and seen the bodies afterward. Broken just as plain as if they'd hit the side of a mountain.

Am I ready for that world without end? It is the only way I can see my Cassia, and Evan, and Luc. I am in Your hands.

The roar startles me. Wind buffets my body from another direction, a strong gust. There's a plunge into shadow and something rough as wood slams into my side. I'm wrenched from my dive.

A claw. Dragon's claws.

It is Tereth. Wounded, yet still his wings pound the air. He dodges the shattered remains of the isle, the broken stone of the Navio Mons fortress, and angles up and away. Vesna is clutched firmly in his other claw.

Niall? I crane my neck. Another younger dragon has him--and Ariya's body is no longer pressed to his chest. He's yelling with rage, squirming in the dragon's grasp. But there's nothing to be done. She is nowhere to be seen.

Gridley. Luc. I don't see their bodies either. The largest chunk of Navio Mons falls faster still, shedding more pieces, an arrow straight into the sea.

"Higher!" Benath's shout shakes the air. "Faster, limp-wings! Move your scales or we're drowned!"

Drowned? Up here?

The impact is deafening. A pebble dropped in a pond by a child, a thousand thousand times greater. Navio Mons burrows deep below the surface, digging a dark hole. Water explodes from the ocean in huge waves, leaping up into the sky with a terrible, throaty roar. Sea foam churning, hissing. Wind rushes up at us, turning the dragons' determined flight into a twisting, panicked rout. The water is right behind. Tereth's wings flap furiously. My breath is lost.

Up.

Fast.

There's endless sound and sea spray that seems it will never let us go. It will drag us out of the clouds and bury us under a mountain of ocean.

Heartbeats pass. Long ones.

We soar free. Out of reach. Far below, the waves are crashing out, spreading their awful hands across the sea, carrying the debris of dozens of warships and drowning the stones of Navio Mons.

The Bloodheart is gone. So is the danger. The darkness. The skies are clear, and the dragons carry us away.

I cannot feel magic. Cannot summon the ice. My body is weak, and warm.

What have I done?

### Strathern

It is dark. And cold.

Bowen Cord's ice is the last thing I feel.

When I saw my own end, I thought it would be on a bed, with warm arms around me and a warm fire in the hearth. My hair would be silver, my heart slowing, contented, and outside legions of men and women following on my every word. I would reign supreme, even in the moment of my death.

Instead.

This.

What I would give to see my kin again. My siblings. Even my parents. To feel the grass between my toes, the mud in my fingers, and the laughter deep in my chest.

Satara. I miss her. I would give anything to be with her now, to see her smile. Can a heart ache when it's stopped?

It doesn't matter now. I've been a fool. The relic is gone from my reach.

What do I expect now? Mercy? Be it so...

I grasp in the darkness for something. Anything. My fingers close on a hand.

It seizes mine painfully. Claws pierce my skin. The cold is vanquished by sudden, scorching flame. All around me is fire.

Laughter assails me. Here there is no mercy. My last thoughts: What if there was more? What if the soul-mages were right?

My last thoughts.

Lost in screams of torment.

# THE THIRTY-THIRD CHAPTER

~

### Bowen

The first rule of magic stands: The death cannot be returned to the living.

But new love, new life, can fill the void their departure leaves. Such is the gift of the light that breaches the darkness.

We spent ten months at Jasna Gora sifting through paper scraps, removing charred tapestries, and burying the dead. So many were dead, with Evan among them. His family, mercifully, survived. I held his widow's hands as she wept beside his grave, his children gathered at the hem of her dress.

Our toil was long, but cleansing. More and more villagers came to finish the work, more travelers arrived in cloudships bearing supplies and gifts. It will take years for Jasna Gora to reclaim its former glory. I will return when I can, most especially on one memorable day each year--the anniversary of the cold but bright afternoon on which Vesna and I were wed by the surviving priests, with Evan's family in attendance.

The travelers also brought tales of the destruction of Northamber's might. The huge waves Navio Mons unleashed upon the seas crashed down on Northamber's cliffs with an awful wrath. The king himself could not turn them back. Not one stone left atop the other. With the castle went scores upon scores of the goblin hordes camped upon the coast. There's no remnant of His Majesty's fleet. The people of Northamber, their lords and castle of the coast undone, struggle on. Kindness does find its way from other realms, though, in spite of the pain the now extinct royal family inflicted on the rest of the isles.

The Duke of Slaskie, having heard our story and seen our works, brought us before him and offered us anything as a reward. Anything his duchy could provide.

Niall, Vesna, and I did not need but a moment's look at each other before I gave the Duke an answer.

When I turn the rise-wheel, she responds ably. Stiffly, but ably. A gentle twist of the alter-wheel bends our course to starboard.

She's no _Sleet_. She's _Northwind_. A cutter of similar lines, eight feet longer in the keel and four feet wider abeam. The hull's a lighter shade of wood, a tougher grain, and still smells newly carved from the slipway. gray canvas sails catch the air, rippling and bulging as we soar the South Atlan for warmer climes.

Vesna stands beside me, eye pressed to the spyglass. She peeks aside and winks at me. "The view is good ahead, Captain."

"The view is good here." I loop an arm around her waist. Rest my hands on the curve of her stomach, which bulges under her dress. A thump twitches beneath my fingers. I smile. A fine kick, from this lad or lass.

"We'll make the isles soon. Land's ahead."

"So I see. Niall!" I holler down the deck. "Isle ho!"

Niall turns from his climb aloft on the rigging. "Yes, I've not gone blind, Captain. Boys! Prepare the tie lines, cubs!"

Our new crew: twin youth from Slaskie with black hair, olive skin, their faces narrow and their arms slender, ropy with muscle. One has blue eyes and the other deep brown; elsewise they cannot be told apart. They leap to their work, with Niall lashing them along with his words. He pauses only to smirk at me.

Niall is again Niall. He jokes more, teases and chides the crew. We laugh aloud about our adventures and drink--often far too much and far too late into the night--to new journeys ahead.

Only in the early morn, when the pink first touches the rim of the velvet blue sky, do I see what he's holding at bay. When he stands alone at the bowsprit, arm on the rigging, hair and cloak blown in the wind, he crades an arrow in the other hand. Plainly clear around his neck is a copper pendant. Sealed within are two while feathers, pressed in glass.

Six months ago he made a request of me, as only an old friend could do. I promised to fulfill it.

Today, I will.

Every morning, I wake and give thanks for my friend Niall, my wife Vesna, for the new life growing within her with which we have been blessed, for my new crew and for this ship.

A yip breaks through my reverie. The pup barrels down the deck, chasing after a pair of sparrows that have hidden in the sails. He's short, stocky little ball of white and black fur, keen gray eyes. The birds veer off into the sky, and the pup is almost off the edge with them. His claws scrabble at the wood. He catches himself. Barks madly, tongue lolling, and happy as any four-footed beast can be aboard.

"Thomas! Come!" I whistle for him.

He sprints to me, running under my cloak. He barks rapidly, rubs against my leg, and yelps again.

"Nuisance having a hound on board!" Niall slides down the rigging.

"Yes, it is, having two of them again!" I holler.

"If you children are quite finished, we're near our port of call," Vesna says.

Niall grins. "Oh, yes. I saw."

The isles appear from behind a thick bank of cottony clouds. There are dozens of them--flat and wide covered with rolling green hills, tall spires of gray rock with mossy outcroppings. Buildings are strewn here and there with smoke curling from brick chimneys. Above those, people flying--angels on the wing.

Ariya's people. The Aevorn.

Niall yells with joy. He claps me on the shoulder.

"We'll tell them of her bravery, Niall, and deliver the silver she's earned to her nest," I say.

There's more than that to deliver. You see, Evan was right about a great many things. So was Cassia. Amidst the ruin of Jasna Gora I found the old story of one life given so that all may become eternal. I stand faithful and forgiven.

I twist the rise-wheel and take us up. _Northwind_ pounces on the currents. We'll soon arrive to pay homage to friends lost and new lives found.

In that moment, after long days and months absent, ice pricks my fingers.

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