By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles)

by Houpt, David

  “That’s the eye of a dragon, Lian,” Gem replied, still startled. “A pretty damned big one, by the size of the eye. I don’t know why there’d be such a thing in a scrying chamber.”

  “That’s because you aren’t terribly well educated,” announced a dry voice from the northern end of the chamber.

  Lian drew and leveled Gem, but there was nothing to be seen but the table, the shelves, and their contents.

  “You said that?” Lian asked incredulously, looking directly at the skull.

  “I did. You possess the Key and I am ready to depart. Let us be gone from this place,” the voice pronounced. The skull made no movement as it spoke.

  “I’m not so certain we should take it with us, Lian,” said Gem. “You heard what Elowyn said about possession.”

  He nodded. “I know, Gem,” he spoke as he sheathed her. It was harder to sheath a sword one-handed than to draw it, but he managed it as he had done with the shortsword in his vision with the goddess. His left arm still dangled uselessly.

  To the skull, he added, “What is that thing, other than a dragon’s eye?”

  “Why should I tell you anything if you aren’t planning to take me away from here?” it asked, its tone evoking the image of an arched eyebrow in Lian’s mind. The skull itself, despite the voice, did not move in any way. In fact, Lian could see that the jaw was sealed shut against the upper teeth.

  “Who said I wasn’t planning to take you along?” Lian asked. “However, I will point out that I’m much less likely to do so if you aren’t helpful.”

  The voice chuckled, “You are quick, aren’t you, Your Highness? All right.

  “The eye belonged to the dragon Khiseveth, whose powers of perception were legendary. Alidwyr Corian, a great elven mage from the time of the Shadow Kingdoms, slew the poor beast and created a pair of immensely powerful divinatory devices from the eyes. One of the eyes was destroyed when the Shadow Kings were overthrown, but the other had been smuggled out of the Kingdoms before the fall.

  “Firavon inherited the eye from his predecessor, and I can’t imagine a more apt diversion to emplace in this room; can you?” the voice asked.

  “Diversion?” Lian asked, at the same time mentally quizzing Gem. Can you take the remainder of the mage power Elowyn gave me for yourself?

  I can certainly try, Lian. It might hurt, she replied. Good idea, though.

  The skull, or what Lian assumed was the skull’s voice, continued, “Yes. The true prize contained here is the Key, of course. When enemies gain access to this room and find a throne with no powerful and dread artifact before it, they would ask questions.”

  “Like what went there, and who has it now?” Lian said, finishing the thought.

  “Precisely. I admire a quick study. Now, we need to get moving.”

  As the skull spoke, Gem created a mystical linkage between herself and Lian, and through it extracted Lian’s borrowed power. To Lian it felt like ten thousand new pinpricks, each one dipped in vinegar beforehand. Focusing as he had been taught, he tried to disregard the pain; however, evidence of the struggle showed on his face. Quickly covering, he reached over to his left shoulder with his good arm and allowed a grimace.

  “Are you hurt, Highness?” the skull asked, some concern evident in its voice.

  “I was touched by a wraith earlier,” he replied. “My shoulder is still numb, although part of it seems to be waking up. That’s what it feels like, anyway.”

  “Ah,” proclaimed the skull. “Let us hope that it didn’t do any lasting damage. Regardless, it may take some time before you get the use of your arm back. Meanwhile, you’ll need to take measures to ensure that your muscles don’t atrophy.”

  “I appreciate your concern, sir . . . ?” Lian hesitated, asking for a name.

  “You may call me Lord Grey, Highness,” it said. “That’s the name by which I have been known for a very long time. And you are welcome to my concern, if only because you provide the opportunity to escape this room.”

  “Why did Firavon place you here, Lord Grey?” Lian asked. The agony of the mana transference was fading quickly.

  “Firavon himself did not bring me here. He was dead long before I arrived in this place. The necromant Naveh brought me here, to aid her in her pursuits. Most of the herbs here are more useful for necromancy than for divination.

  “Some of them are effective poisons, though. If you’re interested, I’ll indicate which ones,” it said.

  Ignoring the skull’s comment about poison, Lian said, “So you were a necromancer in life?”

  Lian envisioned the skull nodding. “Yes, I was. However, we digress. You should hurry, because securing the gates and doors of the Tower will have created quite a ruckus. You should at least employ the lenses to observe any activity down in the main chamber.”

  “Do you know how they work?” asked Gem.

  “Yes, Lady Sword, I do. The large prism in the center is the master, and will give a view of the Great Hall. Manipulation of the wheels and levers beside will select other rooms to view, and reposition the viewpoint.”

  Lady Sword? Lian queried Gem, stressing the word lady.

  He knows good breeding when he sees it, she quipped, then more seriously explained, Many magical weapons have swelled egos, Lian. He’s hoping that flattery will procure favor with me.

  Oh, he doesn’t know you at all, then, Lian replied, irony lightly tingeing his thoughts. Aloud, he said, “Okay. That’s getting us somewhere.”

  He seated himself eagerly at the western table and gingerly reached out to draw the center prism down a little and toward him. It was mounted on an articulated arm. There was a complex system of levers and wheels in the center of the table, and he assumed that they controlled the main crystal.

  He maneuvered them for a bit, and quickly discovered that the center wheel determined the room to be observed. Some rooms had multiple viewpoints, and the levers granted that selection. Additional controls turned the viewpoint on its axis, and others regulated the sound.

  He chanced upon the Great Hall right away, and stopped to watch because he saw lights and people. Increasing the sound level, he settled down to scrutinize the eerily clear images. The distant voices sounded as if they were speaking directly into his ear, transmitted by the marvelous artifacts fashioned by Firavon.

  In the crystal, he saw his uncle and aunt. Rishak’s wife was the reputedly very powerful sorceress Jisa. Her image, even in the small lens, still had a strong effect on Lian, for Jisa was an extremely beautiful woman. She had long strawberry-blonde hair and her complexion was very fair. Her eyes were an arresting shade of green, and her body was of the variety that typically would occupy the imagination of a fourteen year old prince. Her hands were narrow, with long, tapered fingers, and her nails were finely manicured. Her most fascinating characteristic, however, was her voice. She possessed a remarkable range, and her lovely voice was frequently compared to the most talented singers in Dunshor. She was also an accomplished sorceress, though she wore no formal rank emblems. She had fabricated wondrous illusions for his twin sister’s birthday several years before, and had always given the impression of affection toward her nieces and nephews. Something about her, however, had always vaguely disturbed Lian.

  With his aunt and uncle were four of Rishak’s mages and half a dozen members of his personal guard, several of which were warily keeping watch over a thirteenth person, a young man in black robes. The array of weapons this last man bore contradicted the first impression that he, too, was a mage. Lian guessed that he was one of the assassins the duke had employed.

  Belatedly, anger swelled up inside him, and his face flushed. His grip on the wheel before him tightened until his knuckles turned white.

  “Careful, Lian,” Gem admonished.

  Lord Grey chuckled. “It would take a far more destructive implement than thee, My Lady, to damage Firavon’s work. His hand cannot harm those controls. Indeed, they have survived a magical duel in this very room.”

>   Lian relaxed his grip and raised a questioning eyebrow toward the skull. “As did you?” he asked.

  “Gods, you are perceptive,” the skull said. “Yes, I did. That which binds me shields my physical form, or what passes for it, from harm.” Lord Grey’s tone was dry, but Lian imagined he heard a measure of long suffering in it.

  No doubt as I was meant to, Lian thought. Aloud, he said, “Useful to know,” and returned his attention to the crystal.

  Two of the mages, wearing the robes of Masters, were making passes at the massive main doors to the Tower, apparently to no avail. A third was in conference with Rishak and Jisa, who had been observing the magical attempts to unseal the doors. Lian surmised that this man was a High Master, based on his robes. He appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties, his hair long and shock-white. His eyes were clear and there was no sign that his age had slowed him down. His voice rang with a clear, deep basso.

  “Your Grace,” the man began, his expressionless eyes barely displaying the proper deference, “I have discovered a matter of concern to you, I should think. We apparently have the leisure to discuss it now, if Your Lordship wishes.”

  “What is it, Karak?” Rishak asked, abruptly turning his spell-scarred face toward the mage. Jisa’s attention remained absorbed on the effort to open the door.

  The mage gestured toward the thirteenth man. “This is Alonyu, Exalted One. He is one of the men you employed to . . . ”

  Rishak interrupted impatiently, “Do you think I’m so addled that I don’t recognize him? Get to the point.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the sorcerer replied, his tone becoming silky. Even Lian could perceive the effort the man expended to restrain his temper.

  “In the dubious case Your Grace doesn’t remember, however, and solely for clarity’s sake, this man Alonyu’s assignment was young Prince Lian. His companion, the Trakalan Bijil, was discovered within Lian’s quarters, with a dagger in his back and his head cut off. When one of my demons finally located him, Alonyu was in the proximity of the treasury.”

  Rishak’s hard eyes narrowed upon hearing this information, and from his vantage point, Lian noticed that Jisa had shifted her attention slightly, focusing on a point somewhere between the Great Doors and the cowering assassin.

  Karak, as Rishak had addressed him, continued, “His initial claim, Your Grace, was that he had been forced to separate from his partner to divert some guardsmen which might have interfered with their mission. However, he has changed his testimony once he learned of Lian’s current, ahem, evasion of our forces.

  “He now maintains that he was in pursuit of the young prince. Perhaps he was misdirected by a magical illusion cast by your nephew’s sword?” he asked rhetorically, sarcasm evident in his tone.

  “I can see why you insisted that he be kept in my company, Karak,” Rishak said calmly. Lian wasn’t sure what Rishak meant by this.

  To the assassin, he said, “Your actions must have seemed reasonable to the both of you. I can certainly understand how you came to the conclusion.”

  The assassin was obviously afraid, yet determined not to show it. He bowed to Rishak and took one step toward him. The guardsmen moved closer to Alonyu, hands steady on their short swords and daggers. “To what conclusion does His Grace refer?” he asked, keeping his eyes lowered respectfully.

  Jisa directed her cool gaze to the man. “My husband refers to your decision to loot, dear boy,” she said, her beautiful soprano voice bell-like in its quality. The combination of beautiful voice and magical power was deadly.

  The assassin protested his innocence. “I would not do such a thing, Great Lady. The prince evaded our initial attempt on his life. Bijil bungled and completely missed his mark. If the sorcerer’s creature hadn’t interfered,” he complained, indicating Karak, “I’d have hunted him down, I’m certain.”

  One of the guardsmen, decorated with a Captain’s rank insignia, said, “I have to give you marks for guts, boy. But I suggest that you stop wasting His Grace’s valuable time with your cheap lies.”

  Rishak slowly raised his hand. “Let us for the moment assume that he is speaking the truth, Captain. Where were you, Alonyu, when Bijil was ‘botching’ the assignment? Was it not your duty to ensure that the task was properly executed?”

  Something in either his tone or his stance was alerting the guards and mages that Rishak wasn’t actually as calm as he pretended. Lian could see them unconsciously shrinking away from their duke. Alonyu, with his back to the others, didn’t seem to notice. Rishak must have a tremendous temper, Lian thought to himself.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” he explained. “But Bijil was appointed senior partner, and he ordered me to hold a position well back. The very silence which enabled us to penetrate the castle defenses prevented my realization that the prince had escaped until I heard something scrape on stone well away from the room.”

  “Clever explanation,” purred Jisa, “but inaccurate. The silence was designed so that each operative could hear within each other’s silence. If you had been working together as you assert, you’d have realized that.”

  The assassin drew back a half step in alarm, yet was determined to stick to his story. “Milady, perhaps that was the intent, but I can report only what I saw and heard.”

  Rishak actually winced. “My beloved designed that spell personally, Alonyu. Were I in your shoes, I wouldn’t presume to question her competence.”

  Now Alonyu’s terror lay exposed. “Lord and Lady, I intended no insult. Surely . . . ”

  With a dismissive gesture, Rishak interrupted him. “I tire of this. Jisa, he’s yours.” He turned his back on the man to survey the hall.

  Jisa smiled, a delicate gesture that momentarily reminded Lian of snow flowers. Then he caught a direct view of her eyes, which displayed a cruelty he’d never noticed in his aunt before.

  The Jisad assassin, comprehending his fate, threw his arms out from his sides. From within the sleeves of his robe, short spikes flew toward the closest pair of guards. Before they struck their targets, however, a single note from Jisa shattered them into powder. The distant note, even transmitted through the Artificer-King’s listening tubes, caused all of the metal in the room to reverberate slightly. The weapons of the men nearest the sorceress pealed in sympathetic vibration, causing one soldier to drop his spear.

  The guards seized the assassin before he could react; he was stunned by the sudden explosion of iron dust and the thunderous noise resulting from the steel’s clamor. He struggled briefly before his eyes went dull. Jisa was humming a sonorous note, far deeper than Lian would have guessed her range extended. Maintaining the note, she sidled close to her victim, holding a black, obsidian-tipped wand.

  As she touched him with it, she released the spell which held him paralyzed and sung a different, harsher song. He had just enough time to register surprise and alarm before his entire body withered and collapsed upon itself.

  “Now there’s a black spell if ever I heard one,” commented Lord Grey wryly. “Is your aunt enamored of necromancy, by any chance?”

  Lian was horrified. It could be reasoned that he owed his life to the greed of the killer and his Trakalan partner, and now the killer had been consumed by some terrible magic inflicted by his aunt. Numb, he shook his head.

  “My guess is that is how she stays so young and fresh,” the skull said sarcastically. “They’ll give up on the doors and start looking for you soon, boy. Best get moving.”

  Lian shook his head again. “No, I need to hear their plans. We’ll move on in a moment.”

  I hate to admit it, Lian, but I think he’s right, Gem commented mentally. When they give up on the doors, they’ll concentrate their magic on finding you. And though we are probably safe here, they’ll intercept you when we leave.

  So I’ll just go through a door they can’t open, and that’ll be that, he replied.

  The inner doors aren’t likely to be as impervious to magic as the outer walls, Lian. They’ll be able t
o pierce them or perhaps go around them.

  He sighed.

  “I wish you two would stop that,” Lord Grey said. “It’s very rude.”

  Lian started. “Stop what?”

  It was Lord Grey’s turn to sigh. “Mental communication. At least learn to conceal the signs from your face and body. No doubt, the Lady Sword agrees with my assessment. They’ll be advancing through the upper levels of the Tower soon, searching for a way out.

  “And there are ways out, despite the Sealing,” Lord Grey finished ominously.

  So do we take him along? asked Gem.

  Lian shrugged and answered aloud, “Yes, we do. Elowyn won’t have steered us wrong.” I hope, he thought to himself.

  Chapter Five

  “Firavon the Artificer-King is considered by most to be one of the greatest Theocrats, if not the greatest. His power alone raised the great Tower which bears his name, and his reign lasted for one hundred and eighty-three years, far longer than any other ruler in the entire history of the Theocracy. His accomplishments cannot easily be counted, and the books he wrote were reputed to have contained some of the fundamental secrets of Creation itself. His ultimate fate is not known, for he disappeared from his quarters one night without a trace.”

  -- From “A History of the Theocracy of Krysa” by the Sage Alionur

  Gem hummed a few notes of power, surrounding her charge with a ward against possession.

  “That isn’t necessary,” pronounced Lord Grey with a trace of humor in his voice. Neither one bothered to respond.

  Spell in place, Lian picked up the skull with his gloved right hand. Even through the leather, he could feel the slick sensation unique to items highly charged with magic. Despite the duration of the skull’s residence in the pigeonhole, there was no dust behind it, nor cobwebs. He gently placed Lord Grey on the table top.

  The skull seemed to sigh, his relief evident. “You have no idea how long I have been in that dreadful slot. I am grateful to you for taking me with you. For this, I assure you that you’ll have no trouble from me.”