By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles)

by Houpt, David

  Lord Grey exclaimed, “Awake? Amazing, Highness! You possess the recuperative powers of an ogre!” There was genuine surprise in his voice.

  Pleased, Gilaeshar added, “Or a gryphon.”

  “Indeed,” said the skull.

  Lian said, “Gem has filled me in up to this point.”

  Lord Grey said, “Good. Can you stand, Prince Lian? This will go faster if you can help locate the herb. Additionally, Gilaeshar won’t have to leave you to search for the plant.”

  “I will try,” said Lian, holding his head against a very real headache. His left arm was still completely numb, but except for the flesh around his shoulder it had warmed some. The point where the wraith had touched him was still bone-chillingly cold, or at least it felt that way to him. He described the sensation to the others.

  Lord Grey was concerned. “I didn’t realize it was that bad. You shouldn’t even be conscious, much less able to stand, and most men would have died, I think.

  “Do you shield his soul somehow, Lady Sword?” he asked, taking her by surprise.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” she replied, “although his mother could have bound me with such an enchantment.”

  Lian said, “I can’t think of any reason why Mother would have kept such a thing from you, Gem. Perhaps the Key is somehow responsible?”

  The skull said, “I doubt it. Such an endowment would have added an unnecessary complication to the creation of the thing. Lian, I advise you not to mention its name again, nor its creator’s. And we need to agree upon another name for you; one that we will all use.”

  Lian nodded. “Call me Alan. It sounds enough like my real name that I shouldn’t forget to answer to it.”

  Gem added, “You might also be able to cover a slip should someone call out your real name, though I’m afraid that if it’s gotten to that point, it will be too late.”

  Lord Grey said, “You never know. Alan is a good, short, common name. Or at least it was a few hundred years ago.”

  Alan nodded. “It still is, especially in the west. I speak the Bryhiri tongue fluently, and I resemble them in general. If Gem can maintain a reliable glamour over her appearance, I might have a chance.”

  “If she can’t, it will be as if you are carrying your father’s crown and scepter. I guarantee that your enemies are well aware of the existence and description of your sentient weapon,” the skull said coldly.

  “Lady Sword, it is my opinion that it would be best if you refrained from speaking unless it’s absolutely necessary,” he continued. “Intelligent weapons aren’t unique, but they are rare enough that it could provide a clue to his identity.”

  “Elowyn already warned us about that,” Gem said. “Once my magic is partially restored, I’ll be able to spin an illusion with some permanence. What shall we call the object?”

  “I suggest we just call it a marble,” Lian said. “It’s about the right size, and certainly the correct shape. It will appear to be nonmagical to sensing spells, correct?”

  Lord Grey said, “Yes. You think fast on your feet, even in the shape you are now. Let’s head into the cemetery, and find that Holy Wort. The sooner we’re on our way, the better.”

  Lian stretched. “I agree. At least it isn’t cold up here.”

  “That’s the spell I cast, Prince Lian, or rather, Alan” Lord Grey said. “It shields you from the cold, though it won’t actually make you warmer. Nor will it have any effect on the touch of a wraith, before you ask.”

  “My thanks, regardless, Lord Grey,” Lian replied.

  “Your servant, Alan,” said the necromancer.

  The gash of the collapsed mine extended into the burial ground, though it seemed to have missed the graves. Most of the graves were marked only by a small wooden tablet, the words weathered and illegible. Lian and the gryphon stayed away from the gash, for the ground nearby it looked unstable. Lian, still weak and unsteady from his wound, kept a careful eye on the rough terrain beneath his feet.

  “What’s that?” he asked, catching sight of a metallic gleam in a debris pile next to a small vault.

  The gryphon swiveled its enormous head, his forward-looking eagle eyes able to perceive details that Lian couldn’t see. “Rat boness,” it said, “and ssomething metal.”

  They warily approached the pile, which had been picked clean by scavengers. Most of the bones from the pony-sized rat had been scattered across the graves.

  Lian picked up the metal piece. It was a crossbow bolt, the shaft broken off close to the head. “Goblin work, I’d wager,” he said, turning the bolt over in his hand.

  “Agreed,” said Lord Grey. “And fairly recent, or it would have rusted. It isn’t enchanted.”

  Lian looked around, sniffing the air. “I’d venture to guess that there are goblins here as well as extremely voracious scavengers. Do you sense any ghouls?” The marks on the bones indicated that they had been gnawed upon, a clear sign of the presence of ghouls.

  Lord Grey said, “No. There are no Undead in this cemetery, buried or otherwise. With a cataclysm like that cave-in nearby, there should be some kind of restless dead, so I surmise that the bodies have been removed.”

  “No bodiess?” asked the gryphon, cocking its head in thought before returning to his vigilant watch.

  “So there has been a necromancer here, too?” asked Lian. “Something to make the dead rise?”

  “That is a possibility,” the skull admitted, “but I think it likely he’s moved on. There isn’t much here to attract the attention of a mage.”

  Lord Grey’s reasoning didn’t make much sense to Lian, who was familiar with the work of necromancers. This town seemed perfect to house one, for it was far from the living, and here he could perform his magics undisturbed. Most necromancers preferred to experiment with the dead, which was definitely not popular with townsfolk.

  “You really think so?” Lian said, puzzled.

  Lord Grey said, “He probably just came here long enough to raise a force to bother some nearby village.”

  Odd answer, Gem said. Maybe this place is warded in some way against his kind. That could explain why the necromancer moved on.

  Maybe, Lian said thoughtfully. Maybe.

  “You’re probably right. I’ll certainly defer to your judgment where necromancers are concerned, sir,” Lian said.

  “Iss that the plant?” asked Gilaeshar, pointing a talon toward a fallen headstone which was leaning against one of the dark, twisted oak trees. Beneath it grew a pale yellow wort, its leaves splotched with silver.

  “Yes, it is,” replied the skull. “Gather it, Alan, but don’t let it touch your skin. We’ll have to build a fire and set it to boiling. Do you have water?”

  Lian nodded. “I have a flask enchanted to hold far more than its capacity. We’ve got about a hundred gallons of fresh water, although I won’t be able to refill it when it’s gone.”

  “You are well equipped, aren’t you?” said the skull rhetorically.

  Gem said, “He was trained for this eventuality, and his escape planned in advance. I enspelled that flask myself, and I doubt that even Elowyn knew about it.”

  And now Lord Grey does, she said to Lian, mildly recriminating.

  We need to either trust him or bury him, Lian said. I’d prefer to have him as an ally.

  There are degrees of trust, lad, she replied.

  Make no mistake. I don’t trust him completely. I simply mean that if he can’t be trusted at all, we need to be rid of him.

  Gem said, I was rather hoping you’d planned to be rid of him when my magic has recovered.

  No, even then, we’ll need every edge, Lian said, scratching his chin. No pun intended.

  I thought you’d given up edge and point jokes ten years ago, she said with a sigh.

  He patted her affectionately and set to building a fire. Before long, his small pot was boiling. At Lord Grey’s direction, he added the Holy Wort slowly, while the skull incanted a sing-song chant in a tongue that Lian didn’t know. It
wasn’t the chilling language of the Dead, but instead bore some resemblance to the ancient tongues of the western lands. As the skull sang, the gryphon and Lian both slowly faded into view, the invisibility spell having reached its end.

  When Lord Grey had finished, he instructed Lian to reduce the heat to a simmer, and settled in to wait for the concoction to boil down.

  “What tongue was that?” Lian asked, munching on a piece of hard bread from his pack. The graveyard was exposed to the chill winds, and he was glad for the necromancer’s ward against the cold.

  “The language of an old friend,” Lord Grey replied, fond rememberance evident in his tone. “She taught me how to make this cure using just the water and the chant,” he continued. “The local herbalists in those days had a much longer method for brewing it. It took three nights, and didn’t keep when you were done. Add a little Angelica, and this will endure for Lushran’s cycle.”

  “Thank you for showing it to me,” said Gem. “I’d feel remiss if I led you to believe that I don’t know the incantation now.”

  “Gladly given, Lady Sword. In my company, you may well have cause to need more of it,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Lian asked, sensing something in the skull’s tone beyond what he was actually saying.

  “Only that Undead tend to be attracted to each other, Alan,” he said. “We can expect them to be interested in my presence if we aren’t careful.”

  Lian’s brows furrowed in concern, but he didn’t let his attention stray from the potion, which had at first smelled like an odd tea. Now, however, it had the stench of something long dead and sun-baked.

  “It’s done, my prince, and just in time,” said the skull. “Dawn approaches, so I advise that you drink it as soon as you can stand the temperature.”

  Lian grimaced, yet nodded, removing the pot from the fire and stirring the mixture to help it cool. He wished that his nose, rather than his shoulder, had been numbed, for the odor from the thick soup was nearly overpowering. “How much of it must I imbibe?” he asked.

  “All of it, I’m afraid, Alan,” said the skull. “Less might not be enough to completely cure the condition. I have some difficulty judging the extent of your wound, given that you are walking instead of lying there comatose. However, in the absence of Angelica to stabilize the brew, it loses potency quickly. Please drink it.”

  He keeps trying to hurry me. See if you can contact the gryphon mentally, he said to Gem as he dipped a spoonful of the Holy Wort. With an expression of extreme distaste, he ate it.

  “Ugh,” he managed to choke after he swallowed it. “That’s terrible.” He raised the pot to his lips awkwardly, and quickly drank the rest without further complaint. Almost immediately, his left shoulder began throbbing in great pain, and he found that he could again move his fingers.

  Glad I am that I did not have to eat it, spoke a strong and deep voice in his head, with no trace of hissed sibilants. The mind touch was gentle, and conveyed enough of the beast’s identity that there was no need to identify itself.

  Lord Grey is behaving strangely, Lian said. He seemed to be trying to rush me to finish.

  I thought that the Greylord was merely eager to get us underway again. Perhaps this place bothers him for some reason? it suggested.

  Perhaps. Gem, too, thought that might be the case, but I’m not so sure. Stay alert.

  The mental image of the gryphon puffed up the feathers on its neck in mock offense. Always. The gryphon began to form another sentence, but its head suddenly snapped toward the chasm. I just picked up a scent, but I cannot determine its location. I can tell you that it is nearly as revolting as the potion the Greylord made for you.

  What does it smell like? Lian asked, and was rewarded with a momentary impression of the gryphon’s sense of smell. There was a metallic, slightly offensive odor, which Lian had missed beneath the stench of the draught. For Lian’s benefit, Gilaeshar had enhanced that scent and suppressed the other.

  Goblins, Gem said decisively. She was accustomed to availing herself of Lian’s senses at a much more sensitive level than the prince could. She repeated her declaration aloud, for Lord Grey’s benefit.

  Goblins? said the gryphon. I do not know of these creatures.

  Largely a nasty, brutish lot, commented Lian. They’ve been enemies of Dunshor since the time of Krysa the Founder. They’re humanoid, shorter than man, and use weapons and armor. Some clans raise and herd the larger species of rats.

  The gryphon narrowed its physical eyes and locked its gaze on the collapsed tunnel. “Get on top of me,” it said aloud then it screamed a challenge.

  From out of the tunnel streamed about two dozen giant rats, scrabbling their way up the steep incline. They varied in size from small dog to small pony. At the gryphon’s powerful scream, they hesitated, eyes rolling wide in fear. Lian hurriedly climbed aboard Gilaeshar, who lowered his foreleg to give the prince purchase.

  The rats seemed to interpret this as a sign of weakness, and resumed their charge, bolstered by their steadily increasing numbers. Chittering with a din that rivaled the gryphon’s screech, they advanced quickly, flowing like a brown tide over the gravestones.

  Lian drew Gem and prepared to help defend Gilaeshar. “Take off!” he shouted, then nearly lost his breath when the gryphon leapt vertically twenty feet in a single bound. It spread its wings and beat the air, climbing straight over the rats. The huge rodents didn’t stop their charge, but milled about in ever-increasing numbers directly beneath them.

  With powerful strokes, the gryphon continued its climb. When it reached a height of forty feet, however, they were met with a volley of black-fletched crossbow bolts. These seemed to be aimed primarily at the creature’s wings, though some struck Gilaeshar’s body. Lian was relatively safe on his perch behind the gryphon’s neck.

  The bolts had been launched from deep within the scar of the collapsed mine, so by the time they reached their target, much of their energy was spent. They managed to strike hard enough, however, to pierce the muscle and sinew of Gilaeshar’s wings, and the mighty wingbeats faltered.

  Jump away from the rats before I hit the ground, he said mentally, with enough rage to make Lian’s head ache. Get on top of something defensible.

  Lian acknowledged and positioned himself atop the gryphon’s back in time to leap onto the coverstone of one of the graveyard’s two small crypts. The impact was jarring, but he managed to keep from turning an ankle or breaking a bone. With murmured apologies to the deceased occupants, he tightened his grip on the longsword.

  Quite a few of the monstrous rats were directly under Gilaeshar when he hit the earth, and they served to cushion his fall. For most of these unfortunate rodents, the tons of gryphon suddenly crushing them was the last thing they would ever know.

  Instantly, ignoring the pain of the bolts, the gryphon righted and began tearing and biting the remaining rats, striking at them again and again. The unexpected ferocity of its attack took the rats by surprise, and they cowered briefly before throwing themselves at the beast.

  They’re being compelled, Gem said unnecessarily to Lian. They both had observed the unnatural behavior of the creatures.

  None of the rats seemed to be heading heading his way, so Lian pulled out the crossbow, dropping behind the crypt to cock and load it. Holding Gem in his left hand, which ached but was now fully functional, he took aim at one of the larger rats. The gryphon, however, was lunging about with such speed and unpredictability that he was forced to hold his fire to make sure that he wouldn’t wound Gilaeshar.

  When he spotted the first dirty form climb its way out of the mine shaft, he took aim on it instead.

  The goblin never even saw the bolt before it was buried in its neck. The creature dropped without a sound, but its body made a tremendous noise as it slid back down the incline. He could barely discern goblinish shouts as those below his victim tried to avoid their comrade’s falling body, for the shrieking of the battle between the gryphon and the rats wa
s deafening.

  “That should keep them busy for a while,” he said, looping the goat’s foot on his toe and recocking the bow in one strong, sure motion. He selected another bolt, choosing to leave his Truesilver-tipped bolts alone. The lashthirin-steel alloy bolts flew truer and hit harder than his mundane ammunition, but they were irreplaceable.

  “You may wish to reconsider your choice of ammunition, My Lord,” suggested Lord Grey. “It might also be judicious to remove me from this sack.”

  Lian kept a careful eye out for more goblinish figures at the slope, but replied, “Why? Do you sense Undead?”

  “I am not entirely certain what I am detecting, but I do know that I can offer you more efficient protection and service unencumbered by this sack,” the skull replied. His tone was flat and somewhat distant.

  Don’t do it, said Gem.

  Lian shook his head mentally, I’m not planning to. Something is definitely up with him.

  Aloud Lian said, “Keep quiet, please, Lord Grey. You’re distracting me.” Reconsidering his choice in bolts, he loaded a Truesilver bolt onto the crossbow. He’s trying to tell me something, but he can’t for some reason, he thought to himself. He knew that Gem had quite a different opinion about the ancient sorcerer, so he didn’t share his thought with her.

  Over the cacophony of the battle, he wouldn’t have heard the slight movement of stone on stone, but for Gem’s ability to employ her wielder’s senses far better than he could. Behind you, she warned.

  Turning to assess the newest threat, he observed a skeletal figure emerging from the other crypt. It was attired in rusted chainmail and helm. The helmet hovered in position above its skull, as if the flesh of the corpse’s head was still there. Where its eyes had been was a dull red glow, and it was armed with a broadsword. Unlike the armor, there was no trace of rust on the weapon.

  “Yield,” it spoke mechanically. Lian saw the jaw open to speak the word, yet there was no larynx to form the sound. It leveled the sword at him and advanced slowly. Behind it, more skeletons were shuffling from the opening in the crypt. These were unarmored bare bones, and moved with the dull, aimless motions that characterized mere animated dead.