Blood Storm: The Books of Blood and Iron (11 page)

“I still fail to see why not,” Ranadar said.

“The nine races,” Aisa said. “You know what we are. Each race is divided three ways—Kin, Fae, and Stane. But we’re also divided another way—into the low, the middle, and the high. The low are the fairies, the orcs, and dwarfs, and they concern themselves with the physical ideas—building and fighting and working with the hands. The high are the giants, the sprites, and merfolk. They concern themselves with the mind and the spirit and other, stranger concepts the lower folk cannot understand. The middle are the humans, the elves, and the trolls. They walk between the two and serve as a balance.”

“You sound like a priest,” Ranadar said. “What does this have to do with the mermaid?”

Aisa closed her eyes again. “Humans are both slavers and slaves. It is terrible enough when we do these things to ourselves. When we enslave the merfolk, the higher selves of the Kin, we do more harm to all Kin. The merfolk are freedom, they are spirit, they are power. By enslaving even one, we reduce all Kin, and when other Kin see her enslaved, it encourages more destruction of spirit, and it allows us to ignore pain even more than we do. Rescuing the mermaid will help all Kin, not just the single mermaid.”

Chills ran down Danr’s back at her quiet, powerful words, but Danr found he himself couldn’t speak, though his mouth was hanging open. He closed it. There was a long pause. Then Talfi breathed, “Wow.”

Kalessa drove the tip of her knife, the magic one, into the tabletop. “We will free this mermaid, my sister!”

“We will,” said Talfi.

“Yes,” said Danr.

Aisa opened her eyes and breathed a sigh that seemed to come from her toes, and Danr wanted to wrap his arms around her. “Thank you, my friends. You cannot understand how much this means to me.”

“You are attending the party tomorrow, Danr,” Ranadar said, ignoring Danr’s quiet groan. “The easiest way would be to buy her at the auction and then set her free.”

“And where would we come up with that kind of money?” Talfi said. “Would your mother give us a loan?”

Everyone snorted at that, even Aisa.

“I was thinking Ranadar could Twist us to Death,” Aisa said slowly. “She does like us. And we still need to give her the squid parts.”

“Oh,” Danr said uncomfortably. “Yes. About that.”

Aisa turned narrow eyes on him. “What about that?”

“We already went to see Death,” Danr said.

“Without me?”

Her tone was cold, but now Danr got a little angry again. He didn’t try to resist answering her question. “Yeah. You left, and we had to deliver the squid parts.”

Talfi gave him a hard look, which Danr avoided. The look reminded him that they had deliberately gone to see Death without Aisa, and Danr prayed Aisa wouldn’t ask him a direct question about that.

Aisa sucked in her cheeks and remained silent for a moment, then said, “Granted, then. Did anything—”

Danr interrupted before she could complete her question and force him to go on at length about the entire visit. “She accepted the parts. She also told us something
interesting about shape magic.” He went on to explain, though he left out the catalyst of the conversation—his desire to become human for her.

“So Death and the Gardeners want us to risk our lives to restore shape magic to the Kin,” Aisa said slowly. “Why would we do this when she didn’t even reward us for killing the squid?”

No words came to Danr. It meant he knew no single, truthful answer. For once, this caught him off guard and he was flummoxed.

“Did you not, my sister, just say that enslaving the merfolk hurt all Kin everywhere?” Kalessa said. “And have you not made it clear how much you hate slavery? Imagine what would happen to slaves everywhere if they learned to change their shapes. How long could a slaver hold someone in bondage if she need only fly away as a falcon or slip her chains as a cat or poison her owner as a snake?”

“Leave it to an orc to be practical,” Talfi murmured.

“Oh my,” Aisa said. “I had not thought.”

“The Kin, especially the humans, have been pawns of the Fae for a thousand years because they have no magic to defend themselves,” Ranadar pointed out. “Death is asking us to even the score. The Tree tips—”

“But we could stop it from tipping,” Danr interrupted. “Once the Kin have their magic back, the Tree might stop tipping back and forth between the Fae and the Stane. The Kin could hold it.”

“Very well,” Aisa said. “I am willing.”

And Danr let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“If,” Aisa continued, “we help the mermaid first. She will be sold at the prince’s auction, and we have to free her. I wanted to ask Death for enough money to buy her and set her free, but you already saw her.”

Danr shook his head. “She never gives us money.”

“Just a vague promise of great rewards to come,” Aisa groused.

“Uh, she did bring me back to life,” Talfi said. “I’ll take that.”

“But what has she done lately?” Aisa asked peevishly. “We have completed a number of tasks for her, yet here we live, with little money and no way to get more, and now a mermaid to rescue.”

“This is Death we are discussing,” Ranadar said, “and the Gardeners. I rather think that if they ask us to do something, it is in our best interest to do it.”

“Hmm.” Aisa folded her lips in a way that said she had other best interests in mind. “I care more about the mermaid than the shape magic. She must be freed.”

“All right,” Danr said. “What’s to stop me from going down to the slave market after dark, smashing a hole in the tank, and dropping her in the ocean?”

“Perhaps fifty guards,” Aisa said. “Even your strength and Kalessa’s sword would have difficulty with so many armed men. And they will be moving her to the Gold Keep soon in any case.”

“You said we don’t have enough money to buy her outright,” Talfi said. “But what if we did?”

“I fail to understand,” Aisa said.

“One way to get something cheap is to convince the owner it isn’t worth anything,” Talfi explained. “Then you swoop in and buy it for nothing.”

“Where did you learn this?” Kalessa asked with narrowed yellow eyes.

“My face”—Talfi tapped his own chin—“is handsome but ancient.”

“All right,” Danr said slowly, “how do you make a mermaid worthless?”

Aisa gave a rare smile and got to her feet. “It’ll take just a little work. We should dress for the prince’s party.”

D
anr peered anxiously out of the hired coach. Thick clouds washed across the sky, viscous and clingy, blotting out the moon and drawing a cloak across the stars. A long line of other coaches snaked around a tinkling fountain and bunched up at the marble steps to the Gold Keep, so named because of the faint yellow tint to the stones and because of the wealth required to build it. Every prince of Balsia, determined to leave his mark, had added something to it, and over the centuries, the Keep had come to resemble six castles crushed together.

Slaves held torches to light the courtyard. From the first coach in line, a footman helped a lady in a wide dress and richly braided hair alight. A man in a wine-red velvet tunic embroidered with gold phoenixes belted under a sword followed. Wealth dripped like blood across the carpet as they stepped smartly up the steps to the great doors, which stood open for them. Danr sighed and pulled at his own tunic. It was also velvet, blue and black, with artfully slashed sleeves and matching trousers that were drawn embarrassingly tight. He didn’t wear a sword—even the Hero of the Twist was still a commoner—but he did wear
boots, terrible, uncomfortable things that pinched. The clothing had been a present from an admiring duke or baron or some such four districts back, and he only wore it on these occasions.

“Are you sure we can do this?” Danr asked.

“For someone who faced down two armies at once, you have an awful lack of confidence,” said Talfi. He wore dove gray and scarlet red, and his boots probably didn’t pinch.

“How does my hair look?” fussed Ranadar. He wore a long robe of stiff mauve with a high collar and embroidered in heavy silver designs. Underneath, his shirt was sky blue, and his boots turned up at the toes. An impressively heavy pouch clinked at his belt.

“Did you truly just ask about your hair?” Kalessa smirked.
She
got to wear her armor, freshly cleaned at the armorer’s. “How sweet! Did Talfi brush—”

“Finish that sentence, orc, and you will do it from the end of a spit,” Ranadar interrupted. “This is serious. I need to know if I look the part.”

“You look fine. Don’t bicker.” Aisa, who so far had escaped mention in the stories, was pale and drawn, though she looked stunning in a pale yellow dress that contrasted sharply with her dark hair and eyes.

“Pray to Tikk this works.” Talfi flashed a grin.

Danr stamped twice and spat out the window. “Don’t mention the trickster’s name! He might notice.”

“I hope he does,” Talfi replied impishly. “We’ll need his help.”

The coach jerked forward. It was hot and crowded inside, and there were enough of them to justify two coaches, but Danr hated hiring even one driver for these events. It seemed a waste of money, even though Ranadar assured him that it would not do for the guest of honor to arrive on foot or in a farmer’s cart, and these outings were how they
made a living. Inevitably, the host or some other wealthy person wanted to give Danr gifts, such as the clothing they all wore, or jewelry, or even simple money, and they had to accept such gifts or starve. This made Danr deeply uncomfortable. Prince gifts were for warriors and knights and other nobles, not for half-troll thralls. The givers also had no idea that Danr had come within half a hair of sundering the world a second time, and it seemed hypocritical to accept presents for that. Aisa and Ranadar, however, had no such reservations, and readily took whatever came their way. It was the only income they had, and it went surprisingly fast. It always seemed that the more they had, they more they needed.

The coach at the front of the line halted, and a dwarf dressed all in red hopped down to open the door before the footman could reach it. The dwarf pulled down a ladder, and a woman in a belled dress so black it seemed to draw light into it emerged. Aisa, who was also watching out the window, shot to her feet with a gasp.

“That cannot be!” she cried.

“Shh!” Ranadar said. “What are you talking about?”

“That woman! It is Sharlee—the woman who drugged me.”

Danr’s head came around. “Drugged you?”

“I have had no time to tell of it,” Aisa said. “So much has happened.”

“And that’s Hector!” Talfi pointed out the window. Hector, the man from the tavern, had clambered down beside the woman. He wore the same impossible shade of black, but no sword. She took his arm, and they marched up the steps.

“They must be married,” Ranadar observed.

“What’s going on here?” Danr said. “What do you mean that woman drugged you?”

And as the coach inched forward, Aisa told a story that raised Danr’s hair and boiled his blood.

“I’ll kill them both,” he said, clenching hard fists.

“The line starts behind me,” Aisa said

“No, no, no,” Ranadar said. “Not here. They are obviously friends of the prince. Besides, we need to learn what they are planning.”

“It must have something to do with the mermaid,” Aisa said.

Ranadar jingled the pouch at his belt. “Concentrate on the plan. Aisa, you should avoid Sharlee. She and Hector obviously know you are coming, but if they have a plan for you, there is no reason to give them a better chance to accomplish it.”

Aisa folded her arms like a petulant child. “Fine. We will find a way to kill them later.”

“Are you sure you want to marry someone that bloodthirsty?” Talfi remarked.

“It’s one of her finer qualities,” Danr replied.

The coach finally creaked up to the front of the line. If the footman recognized Danr, he gave no sign. Once everyone had disembarked and the coachmen were dispatched to the stables to await the evening’s end, Aisa reached up for Danr’s arm and they mounted the stairs. Danr felt as if he were on his way to either war or an execution, he wasn’t sure which. The Gold Keep loomed ahead and above him.

“Remember,” Ranadar murmured as they reached the top. “Prince Karsten is young, just twenty-one, and he took the throne only a year ago.”

“His father nicked himself on a practice blade and died of blood poisoning,” Danr recited. “He’s still unhappy, so don’t bring it up. I know.”

“His mother, Lady Hafren, still makes some decisions
on his behalf,” Ranadar continued, undaunted. “Many people see him as weak, and they wonder if a change is coming. Some of them may be trying to create that change. The prince tends to make rash decisions, and he spends money a little too freely, so they may get their wish if he does not mature quickly.”

They passed through the great double doors into an arched tunnel. Murder holes glared down from the ceiling. More slaves with torches lit the way across a courtyard to the building where the prince was receiving Danr. It was long and blocky, with high, thin windows that spilled light across the courtyard. Another big set of doors stood open, and music drifted on the muggy night air. The song was a popular dance tune. Danr gave Aisa a panicked look.

“We will keep the dancing simple, my strong and fearful one,” she said.

“Is there a nickname for that, too?” Talfi said. “It’s got to be better than
Hamzu
.”

“When you become engaged to him,” Aisa sniffed, “you may call him anything you like.”

“Are you engaged to him?” Kalessa asked archly.

“It will happen soon, I am confident.”

“So if we all know it’s going to happen,” Talfi said, “that means you’re as good as engaged. And if you’re engaged, you’re practically married. And if you’re practically married—”

“Door,” Danr interrupted. “Big door. We can stop talking now.”

They had indeed reached the great doors where the castle’s aging seneschal, identified by the silver chain around his neck and the keys at his belt, was just shouting, “. . . Lord Whetherwark and his lady.” The crowd of well-dressed people beyond the door paused what they were doing, briefly bowed toward the door where Lord and Lady
Whetherwark were standing, then went back to their business. Lord and Lady Whetherwark entered the room.

The seneschal turned to ask their names, then caught sight of Danr and inhaled sharply.

“My lord,” he said.

It had begun. “I’m not a—” Danr began, but Aisa elbowed him in the side. He sighed. Did she expect him to lie? He clenched his toes inside tight boots.

“Who were the gentleman and gentlewoman dressed all in black?” Ranadar asked, slipping a coin into the seneschal’s hand. “They arrived just ahead of us.”

“Ah yes,” the seneschal said, still a little flustered. “Hector Obsidia and his wife, Sharlee. Wealthy. Slave traders, mostly. Everyone calls them
the
Obsidia. The prince didn’t want to invite them—they have something of a reputation—but they have more money than slaves have lice, and Prince Karsten’s lady mother reminded him that inviting the harbormaster and the mayor but not the Obsidia would cause a rift in certain sectors, and so here they are. And may I say it’s an honor to meet you, Master Danr?”

“Yes, and thank you,” Danr said, answering the question as a truth-teller must and adding the thanks as Aisa had taught him. He couldn’t say the pleasure was all his—being here wasn’t a pleasure.

“May I have your names for the announcing?”

“Danr of northern Balsia, Aisa of Irbsa, Kalessa of the Sixth Nest, Ranadar of Palana, and Talfi,” Aisa said. She was scanning the room for Hector and Sharlee.

“Talfi,” the seneschal repeated. “Of . . . ?”

“Just Talfi,” Talfi said.

The seneschal turned to the great room beyond. It was filled with glittering people who coasted across the marble floor like great ships or silver swans. A small group was
dancing, but most people talked or strolled about. Servants and slaves sailed across the floor with trays of food and drink. Warm, stuffy air clotted with cologne wafted out the door. Danr, who had grown up in a stable and felt more comfortable among a herd of cows, tried not to grimace. Against one wall on a raised dais stood a tall chair, and beside that stood a young, dark-haired man with a long nose and too much chin. Next to him was a richly dressed older woman. She had the same dark hair and was trying not to run to plump.

The seneschal turned to the throng and announced the names in a booming voice that belied his skinny body, saving Danr for last. When he started speaking, everyone paused their conversation to bow again, but when the seneschal said, “And Master Danr, Hero of the Twist,” in direct defiance of Aisa’s instructions, the entire room burst into applause and cheers.

Danr forced a wooden smile onto his face and stood in the great doorway with Aisa next to him like a strange animal suddenly on display. The bright torches and candles hurt his eyes, and the explosion of applause shoved his ears an inch into his skull. Every eye in the room stared at him with curiosity, admiration, calculation, or hunger, and he felt his soul shrivel a little.

You can get through this,
he thought.
Just like you have done a dozen times before.

When the noise died down, the crowd surged toward him. Kalessa and Ranadar automatically stepped in front of him, hands resting lightly on their swords in a way that wasn’t meant to be threatening, but
was
supposed to remind everyone both of their manners and of the fact that Kalessa and Ranadar were titled nobility, able to bear arms.

A short blast on a horn froze everyone and stopped the
music. A herald near the dais shouted, “The prince will receive the Hero of the Twist!”

Like magic, a path opened up between Danr and the dais. Prince Karsten, his mother beside him, stood at the other end. Danr swallowed. A prince.

A map of Balsia looked like a stained glass window that had been hit with a hammer. The country was a crazy quilt of city-states, baronetcies, duchies, and districts that allied, squabbled, warred, and made up until no one really knew where any boundaries lay. The local ruler called himself by whatever title he felt strong enough to use, and over the last year, Danr had been received by knights, mayors,
Bürgermeisters
, barons, earls, dukes, and even a duchess, but never a prince. Still, he figured you did the same thing. Bow, make nice conversation, eat with your best damn manners, and pray they didn’t ask stupid questions of a truth-teller.

Danr and the others made a little parade of it, as they had a dozen times before. Everyone watched in silence, and Danr felt very small despite his height. Irrationally, he wished he were shorter, less noticeable. What a fine thing it would be to simply be part of a crowd instead of the center of one.

They had walked perhaps five steps when the prince bounded down the dais and dashed up to them. Startled, Kalessa and Ranadar gave way.

“So you’re the half-blood Hero of the Twist!” Prince Karsten said with a grin.

Aisa poked Danr, and he quickly bowed, as did the others. “Your Highness,” Danr said.

“It must have been damn amazing to hold the Iron Axe. You were the most powerful man on Erda! And you gave it up?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Danr said.

“You’ll have to tell us about it. What do you think of Balsia so far?”

Words crowded in his throat, and Danr managed a minimal reply. “It’s very big and crowded, and a lot of people know me, even though I don’t know them.”

A titter ran through the crowd. “I’m sure they do,” said Karsten. “We’re all glad you could come tonight, and some friends have brought in some special entertainment.”

Danr exchanged a quick glance with Aisa. The mermaid auction. Ranadar touched the pouch at his belt, and Talfi touched his elbow, reminding him not to call attention to it.

“I’m sure it’ll be fascinating, Your Highness,” Danr said, with utter truth.

Karsten clapped him on the shoulder, and Lady Hafren, his mother, winced from the dais. The entire room was still watching in silence, but Karsten spoke as if no one else were there. “We should introduce you around. Let’s see, over here we have Harbormaster Willem, High Priest of Bosha, Our Lady of the Oceans.”

A man in watery blue velvet robes trimmed with spotless white stepped quickly forward from a small knot of men wearing similar, less resplendent, robes. Servants or lesser priests, Danr assumed. One of the lesser men, a mousy, bald man with a worried expression, twitched the train of the harbormaster’s robe back into place after he stepped forward. The harbormaster’s carefully combed silver-white hair fell across his forehead in a style usually found on a much younger man, and his sharp gray eyes swept Danr with a hard gaze that lost nothing. When he spoke, his voice rolled like long waves. “Good to meet you, Master Danr.”