Bone War Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE BOOKS OF BLOOD AND IRON

  IRON AXE

  “Turning common tropes on their heads, Harper portrays orcs as valiant warriors and elves as despicable slavers. His reinterpretations of trolls, giants, and Fae folk give this series opener a fresh feeling, while his nods to Norse mythology and folklore root it strongly in fantasy tradition.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Brought back fond memories of a classic fantasy book while still offering a wonderfully unique take on the genre… . Steven Harper created a world that I never got tired of exploring.”

  —The Qwillery

  “The story holds all of the adventure, magic, and mystery I have come to expect from the genre… . [It] follows a hero’s journey … with energy and artfulness.”

  —Wicked Little Pixie

  PRAISE FOR STEVEN HARPER AND THE CLOCKWORK EMPIRE SERIES

  “If you love your Victorian adventure filled with zombies, amazing automatons, steampunk flare, and an impeccable eye for detail, you’ll love the fascinating (and fantastical) Doomsday Vault!”

  —My Bookish Ways

  “Inventive and fun … a fantastic amount of action… . If you are looking to jump into steampunk for the first time, I would recommend these books.”

  —Paranormal Haven

  “Harper seemed to have this magical way of taking this crazy, awesome, complex idea and describing it in a way that anyone could follow.”

  —A Book Obsession

  BOOKS BY STEVEN HARPER

  THE BOOKS OF BLOOD AND IRON

  Iron Axe

  Blood Storm

  Bone War

  THE CLOCKWORK EMPIRE

  The Doomsday Vault

  The Impossible Cube

  The Dragon Men

  The Havoc Machine

  ROC

  Published by New American Library,

  an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  This book is an original publication of New American Library.

  Copyright © Steven Piziks, 2016

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Roc and the Roc colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information about Penguin Random House, visit penguin.com.

  eBook ISBN 9780698146310

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  To the memory of my grandmother,

  Ella B. Karow (1917–2009)

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks go my editor, Anne Sowards, and to my agent, Lucienne Diver, a pair of powerful women, for their help on not only this book but on the entire series.

  CONTENTS

  Praise for Steven Harper

  Books by Steven Harper

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Note on Pronunciation

  Map

  The Story So Far

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  About the Author

  NOTE ON PRONUNCIATION

  The people of Erda tend to sound out all the letters in their names. Aisa’s name therefore has three syllables and rhymes with “Theresa.” Most vowels have a European flavor, so the a in “Danr” is more like the one in “wander” than in “Daniel.”

  The Story So Far

  Welcome back! I know it was cruel of me to leave you with a cliff-hanger last time, folks, but what kind of tale-teller would I be if I gave away everything at once? Besides, from the looks of it, you brought friends. I’m flattered! You know that new people have to put two coins in my assistant’s hat, right? Just a joke! But you know the saying: “A coin in the hat keeps the story on the stage.”

  You’ve never heard that? Well, now you have.

  Yes, I’ll get to the story. But for the benefit of the new people, perhaps I should explain where we are and how we got there, yes? It won’t take long. For those who already know all this, feel free to pop down to that refreshment wagon over there. It’s fully stocked with sausage rolls and beer.

  What’s that?

  What difference does it make if my brother-in-law owns the cart? You won’t regret your purchase. Truly!

  At any rate, for tonight we’re hearing how it all came out—more history of Danr of Balsia, the second hero of Erda; and Aisa the slave, who became the first shape mage; and of Talfi, the boy who forgot to die; and of Ranadar the elven traitor to the Fae; and of Kalessa the warrior princess. It all ends with the War of the Four Queens, a story you should have learned in history class, though I daresay your history teacher’s version wasn’t quite as riveting as this one.

  Rest assured, folks, that this story, called Bone War, stands alone all by itself, and you can follow it just fine without hearing Iron Axe or Blood Storm, the stories I told on previous nights. I will be retelling those later, for anyone who wants to hear them, or hear them again. Meanwhile, that refreshment cart is calling your name.

  No, my financial relationship with my brother-in-law has nothing to do with this story. Nothing!

  All right—getting you caught up. You already know that thousands of years ago, we were split into the Nine People. The downtrodden Fae (fairies, elves, and sprites) lived under the boot of the Stane (giants, trolls, and dwarfs) while the Kin (merfolk, humans, and orcs) tried to live between the two extremes. Eventually, the Stane decided to exterminate what they saw as Fae vermin, and they created the Iron Axe, a weapon powerful enough to destroy the Fae forever. But the crafty Fae stole the Axe and turned its power against the Stane.

  This caused some lively debate among the Stane as to what they should do. In the end, they decided to destroy the Iron Axe, though it would require cooperation between trollwives and humans. They slaughtered a young human named Talfi on a stone table and gathered enough power to crack the Axe into pieces. Unfortunately, the spell broke both the Axe and part of the continent itself. The land dropped straight down, creating the Iron Ocean, with the Nine Isles poking up like dead fingers.

  The Sundering drove the tyrannous Stane under the mountains, and the meek, helpful Fae took rule. At first, the Fae were benign dictators, working diligently to restore the shattered world, but over time, they reveled in their power. They enslaved humans and kept the Stane in their underground caverns. They grew in their power and their arrogance and threatened to drain the world dry.

  A thousand years after the Sundering, a young man with a trollish father and
human mother met a slave woman in Balsia. His name was Danr and hers was Aisa. They were both outcasts, and this bond brought them together. They eventually met Talfi, the human boy who was sacrificed to destroy the Iron Axe. Talfi, it turned out, always came back from being killed, but had few memories of his past. Together with the orcish princess Kalessa and the elven prince Ranadar, they managed to reforge the Iron Axe and stop a second destruction of the world. In the process, they killed Ranadar’s father, King Vamath, which greatly angered Ranadar’s mother, Queen Gwylph.

  Later, they returned to Balsia, where Danr, Aisa, and Talfi were tricked into traveling to the Nine Isles to retrieve the long-lost power of the shape from Grandfather Wyrm. Talfi learned a great deal about his past, while Danr and Aisa learned shape magic. Danr discovered he could take human form and Aisa learned to change into animals.

  Yes, just like you, little one! Though changing into a wyrm and roaring in the middle of a story is usually considered somewhat rude, don’t you think? The rest of us can’t hear, sweetie. If you could just return to your own shape, we’ll— Thank you.

  Danr and Aisa also learned they could pass the power on to other Kin through their blood, though not all Kin survived the process. Aisa learned this last part the hard way when she accidentally killed a mermaid and angered the mermaid’s family, including her mother, Imeld.

  Meanwhile, Danr became more and more unhappy about Ashkame, the Great Tree. Nu, Tan, and Pendra, the three Gardeners who plant, weed, and harvest the Garden that grows in the shade of Ashkame, told him that every thousand years, the Tree tips, causing chaos and destruction in the world, especially among the Kin. Danr wanted to find a way to stop it. Nu, Tan, and Pendra, however, had other concerns. The reason the Tree tips is that one of the Gardeners realizes the time has come for her to step away, and she feeds Ashkame her blood until she dies. The surviving two Fates always choose a mortal woman to take her place, and the cycle begins again.

  Pendra was slowly bleeding her life away to make the Tree tip, and her sisters Nu and Tan had decided Aisa was the perfect candidate to take her place once she died. Aisa had mixed feelings about this, to say the least.

  When Danr and Aisa brought the power of the shape to Balsia, it ignited a civil war between Prince Karsten and the Temple of Bosha, headed by Harbormaster Willem. Willem seized control of a giant golem and nearly destroyed the city, but Aisa and Danr used their newfound power of the shape to stop him. The battle took place during a terrible gale that became known as the Blood Storm.

  After the Blood Storm ended, Nu and Tan came to Danr and Aisa to warn them that Pendra had been kidnapped.

  Chapter One

  The blue arrow thudded into the man-shaped target just above the painted heart and quivered there as if pleased with itself. A tall elf with a whipcord build nocked a second arrow and took aim, his ivy green eyes hard with concentration beneath sunset red hair. He let fly, and the second arrow hit the target just below the heart. Both shafts cast long shadows across the archery range in the late-evening light.

  “Well?” the elf said. His name was Ranadar.

  The young man next to him made a sound of admiration. He had rich brown hair with a slight curl, eyes bluer than a clear sky, and a head with only a few memories in it. Except for a few snatches of the distant past, the earliest thing he could recall was walking down a road with only one shoe on three years ago. A lot had happened since then. At least he knew his name was Talfi. Somehow that fact always came back to him.

  “Wow,” Talfi said. “I never knew anyone who could arch like that.”

  “Arch?”

  “If you’re an archer, it must mean you arch.” He raised a bow and arrow of his own. “Though now that I think of it, I have ten fingers, and I’ve never seen them fing.”

  “Just try to hit the target, Talfi,” Ranadar said.

  Talfi pulled back the arrow and squinted down the shaft. “What do toes do, I wonder?”

  “Breathe,” Ranadar said quietly. “You, not your toes. Aim a little above your target and open your fingers to release.”

  Talfi loosed the arrow. It went high and left and skittered into the wall of straw bales stacked behind the targets. Cool spring air wafted over the palisade walls, carrying shouted voices, clanks of wares, and smells of fish, spice, and toasted food from the market on the other side. In some forgotten century, there had been a guard outpost on this spot. In recent years, an enterprising merchant had taken it over and charged a fee to citizens who wanted to keep up their skills with a bow or spar with a sword but who couldn’t easily get to the outskirts of town. He did a brisk business. Five other sets of people stood in clumps along the range, aiming at targets of their own. A pair of small boys waited on the sidelines until everyone’s quivers were empty, then ran out to fetch the spent arrows and bring them back for quarter-knuckle tips.

  “You are jerking the bow upward when you loose,” Ranadar said. “A common beginner error.”

  “Maybe you should show me again.” Talfi grinned.

  Ranadar gave him a look, then put an arm around Talfi to grasp his bow. Talfi leaned into him for just a moment, inhaling the scent of smoke and wood and … Ranadar. His heart sped up a little, and the circle of Ranadar’s solid arm felt both safe and exciting. Ranadar was a snatch of distant past he remembered. Long ago, they had met in the city of Palana. Talfi had been a slave, and Ranadar had been—still was—a prince. They had carried on a forbidden affair under the noses of Ranadar’s parents, the king and queen of Alfhame, who wouldn’t have been happy to hear their royal son was making merry with a human slave. In the end, Ranadar’s careless arrogance had exposed their secret and forced them apart. Now they were reunited, had been for nearly two years, but sometimes Talfi still couldn’t quite believe it. Most nights he woke up at least once expecting to find himself alone, and it was always a surprise—a thrilling, aching surprise—to find Ranadar, his hair rumpled in sleep, beside him.

  Ranadar murmured in Talfi’s ear, “Release when you breathe out.”

  Ignoring the sidelong stares of the other archers at their targets, Ranadar guided Talfi’s aim and, gentle as a kiss, disengaged Talfi’s fingers from the string. The arrow thumped into the target’s stomach.

  “Better,” Ranadar said in a satin whisper that made Talfi shiver. “I find your shaft quite excellent.”

  Talfi arched an eyebrow. “Really? Am I getting better?”

  “My expert instruction will have you arching in no time,” Ranadar said solemnly. His arm was still around Talfi’s shoulders.

  “I wonder if I could put three arrows into the heart,” Talfi mused aloud.

  Ranadar withdrew his arm with a short laugh.

  “What?” Talfi asked.

  “You,” Ranadar replied with a shake of his head. “If it’s impossible, you have to try it.”

  “You think I can’t do it?” Talfi said. “What happened to confidence in your Talashka?”

  “Nothing.” Ranadar smirked in a way that stirred memories, old memories of harsh words and casual cruelty and hard chains. Talfi stiffened. It wasn’t Ranadar’s fault that the Fae, his people, had enslaved humans for hundreds of years after the Sundering. Ranadar hadn’t even been born when that practice began, and he had been raised to believe that humans and other Kin—orcs and merfolk—were little more than beasts. “But my Talashka just asked me twenty minutes ago to teach him archery for the first time. You could not possibly put three arrows into the heart.”

  Talfi ran his tongue around the inside of his cheek. “Let’s make it interesting. If I make it, you owe me a favor for each arrow. No matter what it is.”

  “And if you fail?” Ranadar said. “Because you will.”

  “Then I owe you three, my uppity elf.”

  Ranadar stepped back and sketched a small bow. “I look forward to collecting, my Talashka.”

  Talfi fitted another arrow to the bow. He shot Ranadar a sideways glance. The elf, too damn handsome to be fair, damn it, watc
hed with a confident expression. The smug, lovable bastard. Talfi sighed, breathed out, and sent an arrow down the range. It thunked into the exact center of the heart. With smooth precision, he snatched two more arrows from the quiver at his feet and loosed them. Each pierced the heart between Ranadar’s original arrows. Ranadar’s mouth actually fell open.

  “Fing!” Talfi said.

  Ranadar made a small sound, then shut his mouth with an audible clop. He coughed, and his face reddened. “You were holding out on me.”

  “Guilty.” Talfi laughed. “You should see your face. I swear you look like you swallowed a squid testicle.”

  “Do you often see people who swallow squid testicles?”

  Talfi was not to be deterred. “You owe me! Three favors.”

  “You misled me!” Ranadar protested. “You already knew how to arch.”

  “Aw.” Talfi patted Ranadar on the cheek. “I like that you’re already using my words. It shows you’re paying attention.”

  “Hmm.” Ranadar took up his bow and flipped the fetching boy a copper knuckle. “So, my Talashka, what will you demand of me?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Talfi said airily.

  Ranadar slid closer. His eyes, an intense green deeper than any forest ivy, took on a heavy look that made Talfi’s knees weaken, just a little. “Do you plan to lord it over me for days?”

  “Weeks,” he managed.

  “And when you do collect?” Ranadar ran the back of a finger down Talfi’s cheek. He couldn’t help shivering. Even after more than two years, Ranadar could still do that to him, and he was glad.

  “As soon as I think of what I want,” Talfi said. Archly.

  “And will you—”

  “Do the both of you intend to put on a show for the entire town,” interrupted a new voice, “or just for me?”