Rise of the Blood Royal

by Robert Newcomb

  The Oraculum sadly closed her eyes. “You do possess a new Vagaries ally on the other side,” she said. “If the legend is true he has the ability to commune with you, for Failee’s last attempt to find the needed forestallment formula was successful. To order him to do your bidding, you need only to reach out and touch his mind.”

  Sensing a glimmer of hope, Gracchus took another step closer. “Who is he?” he demanded.

  “The Viper Lord has risen,” she answered, “as have his many servants. The legend seems true, after all. Failee’s genius for reaching out from the dead to influence the here and now continues to know no bounds.”

  Gracchus’ heart leaped in his chest. “How did the Viper Lord come into the world?” he asked. “Did it happen as we always suspected?”

  The Oraculum nodded. “A few drops of left-leaning endowed blood were inadvertently released into a spring in Hartwick Wood, thereby enacting the spell,” she explained. “As we know, during the Sorceresses’ War, Failee had hoped to end the war there. But the Directorate did not take the bait and chose to fight elsewhere. Even so, what little blood was spilled was enough. Since your rebellion against Shashida, whenever an important use of the craft occurred on the other side, I have witnessed it. Like you, I command the gift of Consummate Recollection, and I can easily recall the day that Failee enchanted the waters.”

  Gracchus’s mind started racing. He had long known that the Viper Lord might rise, and he welcomed the coming of Failee’s long-lost creation. But the discovery of subtle matter by the Conclave and the idea that Tristan might try to cross the Azure Sea posed new threats of dire proportions—especially now, when he and the Pon Q’tar were so close to realizing their dreams.

  But if the Viper Lord could intervene and keep the Jin’Sai from crossing the sea, perhaps the campaign to take the Shashidan gold mines and the rest of his secret plan could still be salvaged. In any event, he would inform Vespasian only of the Viper Lord and not of the Conclave’s discovery of subtle matter, for if Vespasian learned of the latter, he might choose to postpone the new campaign. Gracchus looked back at the Oraculum as she hovered in her beautiful prison.

  “Where is the Viper Lord now?” he asked.

  “I can only tell you that I saw him and his servants flee Hartwick Wood,” she answered. “They travel northeast, presumably searching for more populated venues. Without direction from a higher Vagaries power, the Viper Lord is doubtless searching for his former mistress, and committing his preordained mayhem as he goes. When he does not find her, he will assume her to be dead. In her name he will continue to blindly seek revenge against all of Eutracia. With each victory his servants are systematically removing certain organs from endowed corpses. As you know, revenge was one of the First Mistress’s greatest motives. If she could not win, she ensured that those who had bested her would continue to suffer her wrath. Unlike the failed Swamp Shrews of Parthalon, the Viper Lord might finally succeed in carrying out her vengeance.” The Oraculum paused for a moment as the azure mist swirled about her.

  “When the Jin’Sai learns of the Viper Lord, he will face a difficult choice,” she continued. “Will he lead his Minions against this new threat, or will he take up the larger challenge and try to cross the sea? If the Jin’Sai succeeds in reaching Shashida, the Orbs cannot follow him. I will no longer be able to monitor the Jin’Sai, or any other Vigors mystics he might bring with him. If he reaches this side of the world, the only way to find him is by seeking out his all-powerful blood. Given Shashida’s immense size, doing so seems highly unlikely—even for you and your fabled Pon Q’tar.”

  Gracchus turned away from the Oraculum and he started angrily pacing the room. He needed time to think and he didn’t want to endure the Oraculum’s self-satisfied gaze. His thoughts soon turned to the recent past.

  Although Failee never possessed the convoluted forestallment that allowed her direct communion with the Heretics or with the Pon Q’tar, by way of the Oraculum the Vagaries masters had monitored the First Mistress’s valiant struggles with great hope. But now it seemed that she had perfected one aspect of the formula, allowing Gracchus to touch the Viper Lord’s mind. That was at least one stroke of luck that he would soon make use of. Even without the Pon Q’tar’s help, Failee had nearly defeated the wizards and destroyed the Vigors east of the Tolenkas. She was indeed brilliant, Gracchus thought. Given enough time and training, she might even have risen to join the ranks of the Pon Q’tar.

  Had Failee won the Sorceresses’ War, the Vagaries east of the Tolenkas would have finally been victorious. But it was not to be, for the Directorate prevailed. Despite Failee’s well-planned attack on Eutracia three hundred years later and her brilliant plan to kidnap Shailiha and turn her into her fifth sorceress, Tristan had killed her and the entire Coven. Worse, for the first time a reigning Jin’Sai was threatening this side of the world, and had at his disposal knowledge and weapons more potent than any Jin’Sai before him. That bastard seems to have nine lives, Gracchus fumed.

  The lead cleric knew that this news was a potential disaster in the making. But the unexpected coming of the Viper Lord might help counter that. The Oraculum was right—Tristan would soon face a difficult choice. Gracchus found himself hoping that the Jin’Sai would live up to his impetuous reputation and battle the Viper Lord first. That might temporarily keep him from finding a way to cross the Azure Sea and interfering with the Pon Q’tar’s scheme. Even better, the Viper Lord might well kill him.

  Another thought crossed Gracchus’ mind. He stared at the Oraculum.

  “Can you reproduce the map that the Ones supplied to the Conclave?” he asked.

  The Oraculum nodded. “But what good will that do you?” she asked. “It won’t stop the Jin’Sai from crossing the Azure Sea.”

  Fueled by the bad news and his growing frustration, Gracchus’ anger toward the Oraculum finally burst open. “Just do it, bitch!” he shouted. “I have my reasons!”

  “Very well,” the Oraculum said. As she continued to hang weightless in the glowing cube, she raised her arms and closed her eyes.

  An exact replica of the map given to the Conclave began to form beside her. As it materialized, it hung weightless in the azure mist. Gracchus soon saw that the sage-colored diagram was indeed a detailed representation of the lands west of the Tolenkas. Parts of western Eutracia were also shown. As the Oraculum had guessed, certain areas of the map were out of date. The Oraculum was right about something else, too, he realized. If the Conclave somehow crossed the Azure Sea, even this flawed portrayal would prove invaluable to them.

  He then looked for the Caves. A series of coordinates lay just below the oval mark. After committing the entire map to memory, Gracchus nodded, and the Oraculum caused the map to vanish.

  “Do you believe that the Jin’Sai will try to cross the sea?” he asked.

  “I do not know,” she answered. “I see only what the orb sees—and only when an important act of the craft occurs. I cannot predict the future for you, Gracchus. I can only tell you what has already happened on the other side of the world. That is how it has been since the day you imprisoned me in this glowing cage.”

  The Oraculum smiled again. “Will you inform the Blood Royal of these recent developments?” she asked.

  “That’s none of your affair!” the lead cleric exploded. “I am done with you for now! When you have something else of importance to tell me, you are to reach out and touch my mind immediately!”

  Gracchus raised his arms and called the craft, causing the glowing azure cube to retreat. As it went, its transparent roof and sides melded into the rear wall. Soon all that remained of the cube was its glowing face lying flush against the far alabaster wall. The Oraculum gradually retreated into the mist, then faded from view altogether.

  Gracchus anxiously rubbed his brow, thinking. Not since Rustannica broke away from Shashida had so much been at stake. The next few months would forever determine the future of the world. There was much for him to do and t
oo little time in which to do it.

  Gracchus called the craft and commanded the great doors behind him to part. As they scratched their way open he walked swiftly from the chamber. When the doors closed, the torches in the chamber went out, leaving only the strange azure glow and the whirling white shards to pierce the gloom.

  Faced once more with her overpowering loneliness, deep within the azure cloud the Oraculum sadly hung her head. As the heart-rending guilt washed over her for having told the monstrous Pon Q’tar cleric so much, she wept.

  CHAPTER XI

  TYRANNY, SWORD IN HAND, CAST HER GAZE ALONG THE rocky shore. The morning sun had finally risen in earnest. As the remaining fog burned away, the scene before her only worsened. Taking a deep breath, she lowered the tip of her sword.

  What a strange thing death is, she thought. How full of life a person can be one moment, then gone the next, leaving the body behind to become an empty, decaying vessel. Do we really possess souls? she wondered. If so, where do they go? It seems that even the wizards cannot answer such questions. She sighed and shook her head. If the mystics did know, they weren’t telling.

  She looked at Sister Adrian to see that the acolyte was crying and her face was covered by her hands. But Tyranny had no such tears, for the rage she felt easily overcame her grief. She had seen much during her struggles against the Vagaries, but nothing equaled the sheer brutality of this.

  Hundreds upon hundreds of Eutracian citizens had been systematically murdered, their corpses lining the shore for as far as the eye could see.

  The victims were impaled on long staffs, freshly cut from a nearby beechwood grove. Even women and children had been brutally killed. The bodies were naked, bloody, unmoving. Human entrails lay scattered far along the shore, telling Tyranny that the carnage had taken place over a wide area. There was so much blood that she could scarcely tell that the rocks beneath her feet were black.

  She saw no discarded weapons or clothing, suggesting that these poor souls had been stripped first, then brought here to be killed, and that most had died without a fight. Fearing that they had come from Birmingham, she had ordered two Minion phalanxes to immediately fly there and investigate. As Tyranny and her group stood staring, not one of them spoke, the only sounds coming from the restless waves as they lapped at the shore. As the fog lifted for good, the extent of the disaster was fully revealed.

  Row after row of impaled corpses lined the shore as far as the eye could see, the stakes holding the victims’ bodies upright. Their sharpened tips had been viciously shoved into the victims’ groins, then threaded up through their abdomens and forced out near their collarbones. The lower end of each stake had been plunged into the rocky shore. Each corpse’s hands had been raised over the head, then clasped together and pierced through.

  Shorter branches had been lashed to the stakes just below the victims’ feet and hands, keeping the corpses from sliding down the poles. Every corpse’s abdomen had been systematically disemboweled from the throat to the genitals. In some cases their internal organs dangled from the gaping wounds. Some stretched so far as to reach the ground.

  Tyranny came to stand before an impaled young woman. She had been lovely, with blond hair and a strong jawline. A look of terror was frozen on her face. Tyranny sheathed her sword and reached up to gently close the woman’s eyes. As she did, Traax, Scars, Adrian, and the other three acolytes approached.

  Tyranny turned toward Traax. “Have our scouts reported back?” she demanded.

  Traax shook his head. “Given that you ordered every building to be searched, it will take some time. My warriors will not report until either they find who did this or their search is otherwise finished.”

  “And the other two phalanxes that I ordered to ring this area?” she asked. “What of them?”

  “They continue to search,” Traax answered, “but they have found nothing. Unless the killers remained behind in Birmingham, they are probably long gone.”

  Tyranny turned to look out to sea. As though they were eager to take sail again, her four Black Ships tugged at their anchors. Several dozen fishing boats lay moored between the shore and the fleet, and two long wooden piers jutted from the shoreline into the restless waves. The nearby fishing village of Birmingham had been instrumental in supplying the Black Ships with goods and provisions whenever they moored in this wide delta bay. But as she saw dark smoke rising in the west, Tyranny feared that Birmingham was no more.

  The privateer looked skyward. Her instincts told her that the day would become sunny and hot. Swarms of black vultures already wheeled overhead, and the greedy birds would soon swoop down to collect their next meal. Unless something was done, there would be much for the birds to gorge on.

  Tyranny looked at Adrian. “Was the craft at work here?” she asked.

  Adrian came to stand before the woman whose eyes Tyranny had just closed. The acolyte spent some time looking at the gaping abdomen. She pursed her lips thoughtfully.

  “At first I wasn’t sure,” she answered, “but on closer examination, I believe that it was.” Adrian pointed to the wound and beckoned everyone nearer.

  Tyranny soon saw what the acolyte was talking about. The privateer was no mystic, but she had seen enough azure bolts used to recognize the telltale marks that they left behind. The edges of the wounds were precise and singed black. Tyranny pointed at them.

  “These wounds were caused by the craft, weren’t they?” she asked.

  Adrian nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Do you see how smooth the cuts are? I know of no traditional weapon that can produce such perfect incisions and singe marks at the same time.”

  Traax shook his head. “With all due respect, First Sister, you’re wrong,” he countered. “There is such a weapon, and I know the warrior who wields it.”

  Tyranny nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “The warrior is Tristan, and the weapon is his dreggan. During the fight to take the Recluse, when he called on his gift of K’Shari his dreggan glowed. It sliced though his enemies as if they were made of paper and caused these same burns. But does that mean that there is another K’Shari master roaming Eutracia with the same skills?”

  Adrian again turned her attention to the corpse. She bent down and looked at the internal organs lying at the victim’s feet. Lifting the hem of her robe, she trod through the blood and regarded the next impaled victim in the same way. This time her inspection became more focused, as if she was searching for something specific. She quickly moved on to look at two more corpses. Thinking, she walked back to stand beside Tyranny. There was a puzzled look on her face.

  “What is it?” Tyranny asked.

  Adrian scowled. “Aside from the obvious, two of the four victims that I just examined have another thing in common,” she mused.

  “What are you talking about?” Scars asked.

  As though she couldn’t believe what she was about to say, Adrian shook her head.

  “They are missing their livers,” she said. “Like the exterior wounds, the cuts that allowed their removal are equally precise and darkly singed.”

  Tyranny shot Adrian a skeptical look. “Show me,” she ordered.

  Adrian pointed to the dead woman’s gaping wound. Some organs were missing and dangled toward the ground. “Look there,” she said. “Do you see those interior cuts? They allowed the removal of the liver.”

  “How do you know that only the liver is missing?” Tyranny asked.

  Adrian gave Tyranny a rueful look. “All her other organs are accounted for,” she said quietly. “They lie at your feet. It is the same with the others. Only their livers are gone.”

  Tyranny scowled and ran one hand through her hair. “What in the world…” she breathed. “You are that conversant with human anatomy?” she asked.

  Adrian nodded. “All acolytes are. It’s part of our training. The craft has to do with blood; blood has to do with the organs; and the organs—well, you see.”

  Tyranny shook her head again. She was starting to u
nderstand these horrors less and less. It was an unsettling feeling.

  “But why would some attacker want their livers?” she asked incredulously. “Does that also have to do with the craft?”

  “Probably,” Adrian answered. “On the anatomical level, magic has much to do with the liver. A person’s entire blood supply—be it endowed or unendowed—flows through it. We might be dealing with something never seen before. Either way, only our more senior mystics might answer that. I strongly suggest that we take several of these corpses to Tammerland. Faegan will certainly want to do necropsies. And there is one other thing that you need to know.”

  “What is that?” Tyranny asked.

  “Although each victim was impaled and rendered, the livers were taken only from those victims who possessed endowed blood. Clearly, there is much more going on with these horrors than first meets the eye.”

  Wanting to look at another corpse, Tyranny beckoned Adrian to walk with her. The privateer stopped before the second victim that Adrian had examined. When she looked at the corpse’s face she saw that the dead man had been injured in ways that the woman had not. At first Tyranny thought that she might become ill.

  Parts of the man’s eyes were missing. The entire front of each eyeball was gone, leaving only the rear walls intact. A trail of dried vitreous material ran down each cheek. The edges of the eye sockets were not singed like the man’s abdominal wounds. Rather, they looked pitted, ragged. As Tyranny looked closer she saw that the man’s face was similarly injured by what looked like fresh pox marks. His liver remained intact, telling Tyranny that if Adrian was right in her assumptions, this fellow had been of unendowed blood. She looked curiously at Adrian.

  “What destroyed his eyes?” she asked. “And what caused these red marks on his face?”

  Adrian shook her head. “I don’t know,” she answered. “It looks as though acid or some other caustic material was sprayed onto his face. That might also be what destroyed his eyes. But one thing is certain.”