Blood Storm: The Books of Blood and Iron (6 page)

As if in answer, Aisa’s stomach growled. She had been so busy she had not noticed the passing time. “I could eat a wyrm’s tongue.”

“In this town, you could probably find a cook that serves it,” Sharlee laughed, “but I was thinking about a place I know two streets over. My treat.”

“Oh.” Aisa hadn’t meant to hint. “There are more slaves who need—”

“Aisa.” Sharlee took both her hands, and Aisa was glad the blood had vanished. “You are a kind and giving person, but you can’t clean up all the misery in the world. There will always be slaves who need treatment, and meanwhile you need to eat. Now come along! Auntie’s orders.”

Still a little reluctant, Aisa let herself be led away. Sharlee took her to a tavern north of the Docks, a place that was
quieter and did not cater much to loud, vulgar sailors. This place seemed to specialize in food and drink more than rooms, and the great room smelled pleasantly of bread and mead and spices. Sharlee talked quietly with the proprietor, a balding thin man who reminded Aisa of a vulture, and they took up a table to themselves.

“You needn’t feel guilty, you know,” Sharlee said as a serving girl brought them fried apples, glazed carrots, beef ribs heavy with herb gravy, and mugs of mead. “The Gardeners have been kind to you. Enjoy the fruits of your fate.”

Aisa thought of her own time as a slave. “I do not know that I can say the Gardeners were ever kind to me,” she said, sipping from her mug. The mead was sweet and had a new taste Aisa could not identify. Quite good, and she wanted to share it with Danr. Then she remembered she was angry at him, and then she remembered she was not truly angry at him, and then she was confused. Perhaps bringing him here, just the two of them, could make things up. “The elven hunger . . . I lived with it for so long.”

“And now you don’t,” Sharlee finished. “The entire world knows how to end that hunger, thanks to you.”

“Sss!” Aisa glanced around, hoping no one heard. “I do not wish—”

Sharlee clucked her tongue. “You’re too nice, Aisa. Do you know how many people—rich people—would love to have you at their homes to tell your story? Or who would pay to have you grace their gardens at a party? You could make a tidy living, dear.”

“I do know,” Aisa said. “And I do not wish it.
We
do not wish it.”

“Have some more mead,” Sharlee sighed.

It was good mead, especially with the fried apples, and
Aisa was a little surprised at how fast the first mug went. Sharlee called for seconds.

“It must be so sad,” Sharlee said after a while.

“What is?” Aisa reached for more bread and missed. The table seemed to be wobbling. Or maybe it was her chair. Was this funny? A bubble of laughter rose, and she swallowed hard to keep it down.

“The fight you had with your young man,” Sharlee said. “You never did say what it was about.”

“It was not a fight,” Aisa said, and her words were a little slurred. “Not really.”

“No?” Sharlee rested her chin on her hand. “Tell me.”

Suddenly, it seemed unreasonably difficult and silly to keep everything back, especially with Sharlee. Sharlee was kind, so gentle, so like her mother. A well of emotion for the other woman burbled up inside her, bringing tears to Aisa’s eyes and spilling words from her like wine from a jar. “I have lied to him all this time. I just today told him that I was angry at him because his fame delayed us in our travels.”

“So that’s a lie?” Sharlee prompted.

“Maybe a little lie.” Aisa held up a shaky thumb and forefinger to show how little. “It’s part of the lie. And I told him that if we get married, other people will see me as some kind of abnomin—ablomin—aboomin—”

“Abomination?” Sharlee supplied.

“Monster,” Aisa agreed. “So he thought I was calling him a monster, and I was not. I said
other
people will think
I
am a monster. If Danr and I get married. ’Cause he is half troll and lots of people hate half-bloods, even if they have never seen one.”

“I see.”

“Oh, good. Because I do not.” Aisa hiccupped and waved her mug, which was not quite empty and probably
made her at least one enemy at the next table. “But that is not what truly bothers me.”

“And what’s truly bothering you, honey?”

She did not truly wish to say, but the words kept coming. “It is the Battle of the Twist.”

“What happened at the Battle of the Twist?”

The truth popped out of its own accord. Aisa did not fight it. “Sometimes . . . sometimes I see blood. On me. On my food. On other people.” She looked into her horn. It was almost empty, and then a barmaid handed her a full one. Aisa took it gratefully. “I hear screams in my head, too. Screams of elves and sprites and fairies. They scream because . . . because . . .”

“Because why?” Sharlee asked softly.

“Because Danr is killing them,” Aisa whispered.

“With the Iron Axe.”

“Yes.” The room was spinning a little now. “I watched him kill them. He cut them in half by the dozens with the Iron Axe. He set fire to the trees and they burned to death. He made earthquakes that crushed them. I hear their screams. I see their blood.”

“I thought you hated the Fae. You killed the king yourself.”

“Yesh. It makes no sense. I despised the Fae. The king raped me and he was going to kill us all, so I killed him. But then I watched Danr slaughter so many Fae. All at once. Like candles drowning in blood. All that blood. And
he
was doing it.”

“Your love had become a killer of the masses,” Sharlee observed.

Aisa nodded, which made the room swim. Her cheeks were wet. When had she wept? “I had to stop him. And I did. Barely. But sometimes . . . sometimes I have dreams when I fail to stop him, and he stands on a pile of bloody
corpses and cracks the world in half with the Iron Axe. I wake up and my sweat is cold. I know Danr had no choice. The Fae had already killed dozens and dozens of Stane, and they planned to kill the rest of them. Danr stopped them in the only way possible. He did nothing wrong. But those thoughts do not keep the blood and the screams out of my head.”

“You poor dear,” Sharlee said. “You’re afraid to tell him because it’ll hurt him, but not telling him is hurting your love for each other.”

“Yes.” Aisa wiped at her face with her sleeve, and Sharlee gave her a handkerchief. “But that is not all of it. We are supposed to find merfolk, and we cannot because of the stormy season, and it’s been more than a year, and it makes me even more short-tempered. I blame him, and I should not, and it is all mixed together.”

“Mermaids?” Sharlee came upright. “You want to find mermaids? Really?”

“Yes.” She blew her nose and reached for her horn again, but Sharlee pulled it away. “It is foolish, I know, but I have wanted to swim with the merfolk for a long time. We always seem to do what Danr needs or what Talfi or Ranadar or Kalessa needs, but not what I need.” She sniffed again. “Heroes in stories never have such problems.”

“That’s because those are stories and this is real life.” The warmth had left Sharlee’s voice. She got to her feet and dropped a coin on the table. “I have to get home, honey. Use this to hire a carriage for yourself, all right?”

And she was gone, leaving Aisa with a tableful of empty mugs and dishes and the strangest feeling something significant had just happened.

T
he gold-liveried footman helped Sharlee Obsidia down from the carriage, but she hardly noticed. Wrapped in urgency, she hustled across the great stone portico, barely giving the golems enough time to snatch open the massive front doors of the big house. Once inside, she dropped her patched cloak. A golem caught it before it hit the floor.

“Where is my husband?” she demanded.

“In the library, lady.” The golem’s voice was dead and dry, like stones rubbing together. It looked like a pile of clay flowerpots with arms and legs, and two glassy sapphires made up its eyes. Runes crawled across its head and body in blocky, artless script, and the runes at the top of the golem’s forehead were smeared red-brown with blood. The golem had no mouth—the dead voice came from somewhere inside.

Only the dwarfs could make golems, and more of them were coming on the market now that the doors underhill had opened and more Stane were showing up. Dwarfs could make nearly anything, given enough time and the right materials, and golems were better than slaves. They didn’t have to be fed, they never slept, and they never
disobeyed. The only disadvantage was that they were blood-all expensive. Sharlee had, in fact, balked at buying golems at all, but Hector had pointed out that in the long run, golems paid for themselves in food alone, and she had given in. Then the Battle of the Twist had caught up to the slave market, and Hector’s foresight in hiring dwarfs to make golems had turned out to be the most prescient move in all history.

Or it would be, once the final pieces were put into play.

For a tiny moment, Sharlee considered heading upstairs to bathe and change out of the nasty, itchy peasant’s disguise she wore whenever she was spying on the fool girl Aisa, then just as quickly decided against. This was too important, too much
fun
, to wait. Instead she all but scampered across marble floors and thick rugs toward the library. Slaves, servants, and golems all jumped to get out of her way. It was always a treat to bring good news to Hector.

Light and bright air filled the library. Its floor-to-ceiling windows, which they had spared no expense to have built, let in every bit of Rolk’s golden fire to make reading easy, and Sharlee drank in the warmth and heat like wine after the filth of the slave pens. Why people allowed such things to happen to them, she didn’t understand. Three entire bookshelves, each six feet high, were crammed with books. Two bookshelves were fitted with pigeonholes for scrolls. It was the largest library in Balsia, outside anything the priests might have, and no guest was ever allowed to see it.

Hector was standing at a table, looking dapper in his sun-red silk shirt and dark, perfectly cut trousers. A proud smile crossed Sharlee’s face and mingled with the anticipation. Even now that he was over forty, he hadn’t lost his fine figure, and his hair was still thick and black, with only a hint of silver that called for her fingertip to brush across
it. Her heart fluttered a little to see him, even after twenty years, and she liked that he could do that.

Across the table from Hector huddled a pale, pudgy man in brown whose name was Irwin. Sharlee knew his name because she knew the name of all the people in their employ. She also knew that Irwin was a damp sponge of a man who had a drab wife and two daughters just entering marriageable age. Lately, he had made a number of mistakes, and judging from the look on Hector’s face, Irwin was in for it. That would be fun, too. Hector did know how to put on a show. Partly interested to see what Hector was up to and partly annoyed that Irwin’s presence was spoiling her grand news, Sharlee approached the table.

“The dwarfs you hired have all left me,” Hector was saying to Irwin. “All but one. They’re defecting to the temple of Bosha just when I need them most.”

“All but one?” Sharlee interjected, her previous pleasant thoughts thrust aside. “When did this happen?”

“Moments ago, darling.” Hector didn’t take his eyes off Irwin. “I wasn’t able to alert you, and now I have to deal with the aftermath.”

Sharlee’s hands chilled, and she glared at Irwin with barely concealed ire. Losing the dwarfs was a complete disaster! And just when she was bringing good news, too. “How could this happen?” she demanded.

Arranged on the table between Hector and Irwin were nine small goblets with wine in the bottom. A golem stood to one side, arms at its sides. Whatever Hector planned, it wouldn’t be enormously entertaining for Irwin, the little sop. Good. If he was responsible for letting the dwarfs go, he would deserve it, whatever it was. Interested despite her pique, Sharlee came around to Hector’s side of the table. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Please, my lord,” Irwin quavered. “The temple offered
more than you authorized me to pay. I’ll find more dwarfs. We’ll build all the golems you need. I won’t fail you again.”

“I know you won’t,” Hector replied in a mild tone Sharlee recognized with a little thrill. She almost felt sorry for Irwin, but he had been well paid for his work, and if he couldn’t live up to Obsidia expectations, he shouldn’t have entered employment with them. Honestly.

“Hello, darling,” Sharlee said, and gave Hector a quick kiss on the cheek. He always smelled good. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was—a bit of smoke, a bit of sweet wine, a bit of . . . him—but it made her happy, and that was all that mattered.

“I’m glad you’re home, love.” He pressed her hand with the wide smile that still gave her a kick of happiness after years of seeing it. “You look ravishing, even in that awful disguise. I hate it when you wander around that filthy slave market.”

“You’re sweet, darling.” She brushed imaginary lint off his soft shirt and let her touch linger. If Irwin hadn’t been there, she would have whirled him around with excitement over what she had learned. But instead they had to deal with the dwarf problem. Good news and bad news at the same time. It wasn’t fair. She suppressed an urge to smack Irwin on the head with a hammer and lowered her voice instead. “We need to talk, Hector. Very important stuff.”

“Every word you say is important to me, my sweet.” He kissed her hand. “But I do have to deal with this first, if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t dream of interrupting,” she said, shifting from one foot to the other. “Perhaps we can do both at once.”

Hector saw her agitation—he knew her perfectly well. “Why not? It’ll be like pears and cheese together.”

“My favorite, darling!”

He turned back to Irwin. Sweat ran down the drab man’s face. Sharlee’s gaze swept the goblets, and instantly she worked out what was coming next. It surprised her that Irwin hadn’t. Poor man. Well, he deserved it.

“One of the nine goblets is poisoned, friend,” Hector said. “If you can get through four of them, everything will be forgiven. The odds are in your favor. Just.”

Irwin licked his lips. Sharlee automatically noticed the bad stitching on his clothing, the scuff marks on his worn shoes, the placement of the calluses on his right hand. This was a man who was spending a lot of time losing money at the dice tables. No wonder the dwarfs had left. If there was one thing dwarfs couldn’t stomach, it was someone who couldn’t handle money.

“If I don’t drink?” Irwin asked.

Hector snapped his fingers. The golem reached for Irwin, who backed away. “No! No, I’ll . . . I’m in. Thank you, my lord.”

He reached for one of the goblets with a trembling hand, changed his mind, and picked up the one next to it.

“I really should discuss this with you, my dear,” Sharlee said, letting some impatience show.

“Of course, of course.” Hector folded his hands in front of him. “Tell! I’m dying to hear.”

“I’ve had a breakthrough with Aisa and Danr.” She couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “I finally persuaded her to have a drink with me. A little of Tikk’s tincture in her cup at the right moment, and everything came spilling out.”

Hector’s face lit up, reminding her of the young man she had met so many years ago, and her impatience abated. “Darling—genius!” He kissed her again. “You were absolutely right, as usual—volunteering in the slave pens was
the perfect idea. Tell me everything, and then tell me again.”

Irwin drained his goblet, waited a moment, then gulped hard and reached for a second. The golem watched through impassive azure eyes.

With relish, Sharlee related the essence of her conversation with Aisa. Hector listened with an intensity that told her she was the only person in the universe, so she told it again, and still he listened. He had a way of doing that which made her feel special, completely unlike her father, who had treated her with . . . well, less than specialness. People who said girls married their fathers were idiots. When she finished speaking, Hector drummed his fingers on the table with the abstract look on his face Sharlee associated with deep thought.

“So,” he said, “you believe the key to controlling Aisa is her fear of that troll boy. I like the way you think.”

“I believe we need to hurry,” Sharlee countered. “Three problems are bothering Aisa, you see. The first is that her life will be difficult if she marries a half-blood. A
famous
half-blood. This fear is utterly groundless, and she knows it. She’s using it to cover up the second problem.”

“The battle nightmares,” Hector said.

“Absolutely. I’ve seen it before, usually in men who return from war. They bring the battles home with them, and it tears at them. Sometimes they recover, sometimes they don’t. Aisa saw Danr as a battle monster. She knows he had no choice and she hated the people he killed, but she nonetheless saw him mow down a
lot
of people, and this tears her in two directions. We need to act quickly. She is on the edge of telling him about this.”

“What makes you say that, darling?”

“Now that she had said these things aloud to me, she
will be willing to tell Danr. The moment she does, she will become useless to us.”

Irwin picked up a third goblet. His hands were shaking now, and the sweat shone on his face. What little sympathy Sharlee felt for him was rapidly vanishing. He was putting it off for too long. Best to do what was necessary and get it over with. Only a fool drew it out.

“What are your thoughts?” Hector asked. “Sharp as knives, I’m sure they are.”

“We need to ensure that Danr thinks the first problem, the famous half-blood problem, is the real one,” Sharlee said. “Because the solution to
that
problem is—”

“The power of the shape!” Hector put out a hand, and a slave hurried up with a separate goblet of wine. Sharlee held out her own hand and received one as well.

“The power of the shape?” said Irwin timorously. “That’s just a legend. Only a few people have even heard of it.”

Sharlee pursed her lips. So close. Irwin was sporting some spine by daring to insert himself into their conversation and showing he might know something useful. For a tiny, tiny moment, Sharlee could have seen him spinning his meager knowledge into a second chance. Then he had thrown it away by contradicting what she and Hector clearly already knew—that the power of the shape was more than legend. Involuntarily, she glanced at the shelves. Every book, every scroll, contained at least a scrap of information about the power of the shape. It was the most extensive library on the topic in the world. And every book they kept
here
meant the knowledge stayed a secret from someone out
there.
Sharlee didn’t worry about the slaves or golems—they couldn’t read—and in a few minutes, Irwin wouldn’t be able to, either.

“You have wine to finish,” Hector said shortly, as Sharlee knew he would. “In silence.”

Irwin raised his third cup with lowered eyes and a shaky hand. No doubt it was mostly vinegar—no point in wasting the good stuff on someone in his position. Sharlee tried her own. Sweet and light.

“I see it now,” Hector said, sipping again. “Danr will want to find the power of the shape to solve Aisa’s problem.”

“And his own,” Sharlee said. “He’s still uncomfortable being a half-blood.”

“You know all this from just spying on him?” Hector asked.

Sharlee drew herself up, wounded. “Darling!”

“Apologies.” Hector brandished the cup. “This wine is stronger than I thought. No one manipulates like you, my love.”

Mollified, Sharlee raised her own cup while Irwin shakily contemplated his next choice. “And no one makes the long plan like you, my dear.”

“Then how do we manipulate him into going after the power of the shape?” Hector asked.

“For that we’ll use Aisa’s third problem.” Sharlee revealed her nugget of information like a magician pulling a dove from his sleeve. “She seeks the merfolk.”

Hector’s reaction did not disappoint. “I
knew
it!” he crowed. He took Sharlee by both hands and danced about with her for a moment. “I saw it from the beginning! This is wonderful news! That last venture into the Iron Sea was worth every lost sailor.”

“Especially since we didn’t pay them,” Sharlee put in. “You’re a genius, darling.”

“So are you, my love. The merfolk know the location of the Key, and that means we’ll get everything we want. Our
families . . .” Hector rubbed his hands. Sharlee waited with a wife’s patience.

“Do you know how much this means to us?” he said.

“Of course, darling.”

Hector went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. He was heading into a tirade, and Sharlee, recognizing the signs after years of marriage, held out her goblet for more wine. The slave obliged.

“We were
powerful
, Sharlee,” he said. “Your family and mine. Kings begged to lay their broken crowns at our ancestors’ feet. Now all we have is money. Money! As if money meant real power to anyone!”

“Any child can earn money on a street corner,” Sharlee said, giving the reply she knew he wanted. “But only the right people can wield the power of the shape.”

“And we will become the right people. All we need to do is get everyone in the right place at the right time.” Hector looked thoughtfully at Irwin’s selection of goblets. “Danr is attending the prince’s reception tomorrow evening, and that will allow me to set everything into motion. Can you get our heroes of the Iron Axe into proper position?”