By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles)

by Houpt, David

  “You’re extracting lashthirin from Whitefall’s old mines?” he asked, allowing a measure of amazement to enter his voice.

  The goblin nodded with some pride. “Yes, lord. We are better miners than the holath filth that held it before.”

  I’m not sure what that word meant, Lian, Gem said. They must have located the veins from below, though. Those Whitefall miners didn’t give up until long after the collapse. If there’d been Truesilver within reach, even that casastrophe wouldn’t have driven them away.

  Lian agreed. “Holath?” he asked aloud.

  “That’s a slug-like creature you may meet in the darker regions of the Underlands, milord. They are big and strong, but blunder about blindly.

  “Their mines were inefficient and unsafe, and their earth-sense was inferior,” Snog said by way of explanation. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that a local druid induced the cave-in, because of the way they raped that land.”

  “Ah, the druid. That brings us to these,” he said, holding one of the empty jars in front of the goblin.

  He could see the goblin set his jaw. He fears the necromancer a great deal, he thought to Gem. I wish we still had Lord Grey. He’d be even more afraid of the skull, I think.

  “Alright, Snog,” he said, surprising the goblin by the knowledge of his name. “I understand. You have orders, and you will be killed unpleasantly if you talk.

  “But you do have a choice. You can leave your clan and live to see another sunset if you answer, whereas I’ll kill you unpleasantly here and now if you don’t.”

  Won’t you have to kill him anyhow, Lian? He has either recognized me, or one of his clansmen will, Gem said.

  I’d rather not, Gem. Could you interfere with his memory? he asked.

  My mana’s pretty damned low for starters. And memory work is tough, especially since he’s gotten a nice long, thorough look at me. You have been threatening him with me, after all. Add to that the fact that he’s a trained scout, drilled in memorizing details . . . Gem said, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  Lian’s brow furrowed. Shouldn’t your magic be rejuvenating faster than it is? I know you were totally depleted in Firavon’s Tower, but that’s been awhile, even given the healing.

  Gem said, I’ve been keeping this to myself, since I thought you had enough to worry about. Yes, my power is regenerating at about a tenth the rate it should be. I can only guess that I “pulled” something while I was defending you from the wraith. I haven’t had time to study it.

  “Well, you’ve had some time to think about it,” Lian spoke coldly to the goblin.

  “A question, lord?” the goblin asked.

  Lian nodded.

  “If I tell you what you want to know, will you let me go? Or do I die, anyway?” It was actually two questions, but Lian didn’t comment.

  Lian considered for a moment, then said, “That depends on your answer and whether I think it was given in good faith or not.”

  Note that I didn’t promise not to kill him, he said in an aside to Gem.

  As if he was reading the prince’s mind, Snog said, “That’s not much of an assurance, milord. My masters are terrible indeed, and terrible will be their wrath if I betray them. I must have more, if I am to break faith with them.”

  Damn. “What do you want, scout?” he asked.

  “You must swear two things by an oath that I will accept as binding. First, that you will allow me to escape, and second, that you will provide me some of the coins from your purse to finance my flight. I must also have my weapons back, including the crossbow in the watershed,” he said.

  “What oath would you consider binding, goblin?” he asked, thinking fast.

  “I know an ancient ritual, milord, for I studied with the clan shaman for a time. It invokes the Gods of the Inner Darkness to punish oathbreakers. Not even the clan chief would dare forswear himself in this.

  “The Gods of the Inner Darkness are even more terrible than my masters,” Snog said.

  “And you do not require a priest or shaman to execute this binding?” Lian asked.

  “No, milord. It contains a portion of the Least Truename of three of the Dark Ones, and requires no practitioner of magic to make it work,” the goblin said.

  Lian had never studied the gods in depth. There hadn’t been time to devote much attention to religious matters, with his myriad duties as the king’s son. He had no choice but to accept his teachers’ opinions about the Powers That Be.

  The significance of the Names of the gods, however, he had studied, for that concept was fundamental to the study of magic. Each god possesses a True Name, a collection of syllables which Is the deity. The entire Truename of a god, even a relatively minor one like K’vas/Dalgarin, was a convoluted phrase which had to be sung to invoke properly.

  Once uttered, the full Truename summoned an appearance of the deity’s manifestation. This didn’t necessarily conjure the actual physical presence of the god, but it did call the deity’s direct attention to the singer. It also permitted the god a moderate amount of freedom to deal with the upstart who had dared speak its Name.

  The full, or Greater Truename, was a closely guarded secret retained by the priesthood of a particular god. Some religious orders did not have knowledge of their god’s Truename because the illumination was lost in the ancient past. Others never gleaned the lore because their order was recently formed.

  However, even a portion of the Greater Truename could be employed to obtain much the same effect. Use of such a Lesser Truename would also compel a direct response, but not necessarily from the god personally. The deity could choose to ignore the use of its Lesser Truename, but in fact, most of them sent at least a servitor creature to determine what fool needed to be stomped on for daring to utter so much as a minor Name of the god.

  Less significant in power was the use of the Least Truenames, which weren’t actually part of the god’s Truename at all, rather were magical phrases which had become associated with the god in a mystical sense. It was the divine equivalent of a nickname, and how a specific deity reacted to its use varied widely.

  The inclusion of any form of the Truenames, even the Least, in a binding oath or ritual pretty much guaranteed that the swearing party wouldn’t dare break its word for fear of literal divine retribution.

  Most words of power employed in sorcery could be traced back to the Truenames of the gods. Powerful spells used modified Names to invoke the energies necessary to fuel the magic. The Names of the elements were also used, as well as the Names for creatures and places of other dimensions. All magical invocation was founded on this concept, though there remained little resemblance between the words sung by spellcasters in the present day and the primal Words and Names.

  The second goblin had evidently been feigning unconsciousness while listening to the exchange, for it barked out a phrase in Govlikel. As Gem said, I don’t know what he said. It’s a battle tongue of sorts, Snog tugged hard on his left rope, which was attached to the goblin’s broken wrist.

  The other goblin screamed and passed out again.

  “Him, you’ll have to kill, lord, as part of our covenant. He will never agree to abandon or betray the clan, but truthfully I have little love for them any more.”

  “Why?” asked Lian, already aware of what the answer would be.

  “Our chief is dead, or rather Undead,” Snog said, obviously expecting some surprise from his captor’s face and getting none, “A necromancer has enslaved my clan.”

  “I know,” Lian said, improvising. “I was on my way to deliver this news to the ranger in Greythorn, in fact.

  “Now, for your part of our bargain. You will tell me, sincerely, everything about your assignment. You will swear this to be truthful, using the very oath you will have me take.

  “You must also pledge never to reveal my description, nor that of my sword, nor that of my companions. Not to anyone,” he said.

  Clever, boy, Gem said. I’m going to have spin an illusion about
myself, despite my condition, before we move on.

  “I’m afraid that will cost you some extra coinage, or perhaps one of the fine gems from your blade’s lovely hilt,” Snog said thoughtfully. “Concealing one’s past is an expensive task.”

  “No, it won’t,” Lian said confidently, raising Gem’s point to the goblin’s throat. “I possess a few rituals of my own, including one to ensure that you won’t rise to serve your necromancer nor will you reveal anything. That’s after I slit your throat, of course.”

  Snog gazed first at the Truesilver blade and then the steady gaze of the prince. “All right, but once I’ve sworn to keep your secrets, tell me who you are.

  “The curiosity is almost worth dying for,” he said.

  Despite the fact that the scout was a goblin, and that he had been doing something to the springs that would displease the druid, Lian rather liked Snog. A goblin with his talent was wasted in a minor clan like Death’s Hand, where too much originality would result in an unexpected dagger in the back. There’s not much room for advancement in a small clan, and any progress at all is accomplished by exploiting the weaknesses of the leaders.

  The aforementioned leaders were quite aware of this, of course, for it was the approach they had employed to bring about their own rise to power.

  In a larger clan, one of the deep earth goblin nations for instance, Snog would have been an officer at least. Lian knew that humans vastly underestimated goblins, because those they came into contact with were surface-dwelling outcasts or members of very small clans. Actually, the deep earth clans were organized and powerful kingdoms in their own right, as the founders of Dunshor had discovered, to their regret. The Goblin Wars had occupied the first hundred years of the Founding, and had very nearly exterminated human life in the region. If the mages of Krysa the White hadn’t been fighting on behalf of the people of then-called Dun Shire, the goblins would have overwhelmed them.

  “Then make your oath, and accept your binding. I have some talent for seeing spells, and I’ll evaluate your reaction, first,” said Lian, preferring this solution far more than killing the helpless goblin. Lian regretted that Snog’s fanatical partner would have to be killed, but he could see no other solution. The goblin incanted a short melody, singing harsh words of power that sent an unanticipated shock along Lian’s spine. The words immediately faded from his memory. Truenames indeed, Gem remarked in awe, having experienced a similar sensation.

  Only with supreme effort and long study could the Names of the gods be remembered, for the words were too ephemeral to remain within mortal minds. Simply hearing the Great Words was not enough to retain their power. Having employed the Least Truenames of three gods, it was extremely likely that the terms of the oath would be recorded by the servants of the gods in question, so breaking it would be brought to their attention.

  The retribution might not fall immediately, but Lian had no doubt that it would fall.

  Lian didn’t know what kind of punishment would be decreed in that case, but he didn’t intend to be the recipient of it. “Gods of the Inner Darkness” was the kind of honorific reserved for the very greatest of the gods, or the very nastiest, and he had enough trouble without angering them.

  Snog then swore his oath, in careful Dunshor. He made it conditional, however, on Lian swearing his own oath, exhibiting a great deal of common sense, but he refrained from making it complex in an attempt to slip through the wording. He added, without being asked, that he would refrain from harming the human or his companions for one turning of Lushran’s cycle.

  “I want you to untie me, and you won’t do that if you have to watch your back, lord,” he said by way of explanation.

  Gem said, It was a very powerful oathbinding ritual, and left no magics on him that I can detect. I imagine that breaking it would be a very, very bad idea.

  Lian agreed with his teacher. Being forsworn was a bad thing in general, but becoming known as an oathbreaker to some dark, subterranean god would be foolhardy in the extreme.

  Snog allowed Lian some time to evaluate his efforts. Lian nodded at him to continue. The goblin proceeded to incant once again, sending more shocks of power up Lian’s spine. He paused in his singing, indicating that Lian should swear his part. This Lian did, promising three silver coins to the goblin as well as the pledge to release him. He’d have given the scout more, but that was before losing his pack and its valuable supplies.

  Since his companion was still unconscious, he untied Snog and told the scout to resecure the other goblin. Snog drew a dagger from his weapon belt and said, “May as well put him out of his misery, milord. We’ll have cause to regret if he lives.” The goblin was limping from his thigh wounds, but Lian had been careful not sever any of Snog’s leg muscles during the goblin’s torture.

  Lian drew his lips into a thin line. He’s right, Lian, said Gem. We can’t have him following us, or reporting my appearance to others.

  Lian sighed deeply. To Gem, he said, If it must be done, then I will take the responsibility.

  “You are right. Would you rather I take care of it?” he asked, drawing the enchanted blade. “He is your clansman.”

  Snog looked at him with new respect. “You’ll do your own dirty work. I like that, milord.

  “But you don’t have to concern yourself with this bit of slaughter. I owe him a life or three,” he finished, brandishing the knife. Without further comment, the scout slit his companion’s throat, cutting through both carotid arteries cleanly. Goblin knives were sharp. The victim’s bright arterial blood soon covered his body and the ground beneath him, and he mercifully never awoke.

  “You might want to use that death ritual you spoke of earlier, milord,” Snog said. “Be better if he weren’t to be questioned, no?”

  Lian shook his head. “The ritual only prevents the body from being animated. Necromancers know spells to summon the spirit for interrogation, and the ritual won’t prevent this.

  “Teg!” he shouted to the ogre, who was frolicking with Snarl in the spring water, oblivious to the cold.

  The ogre bounded over, leaping free of the knee-deep pool with agility. Snarl splashed after him, plowing through the water. “Yeah, Alan?” the ogre asked.

  “Can you get rid of this body? We don’t want it to be found,” Lian said.

  The ogre snorted. “Sure, Alan. I knows a manticore. He live near. He be grateful for snack, even goblin snack.”

  He turned his jovial face to Snog. “Sorry.”

  Snog shrugged. “No problem, big friend.” He was already considering the advantages of befriending the big ogre.

  The ogre removed an oilskin bag from his huge shoulder sack, and dumped out a half of a pig carcass. Snarl came over and sniffed at it, turning his nose up at the rancid smell. Teg chuckled and shoved the goblin into the sack, pausing to pick up the pig and munch on it, bones cracking and snapping, as he walked. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “We meet in Greythorn, yes?”

  Lian nodded, trying not to reveal his distaste. “Be careful, Teg. That archer’s still out there somewhere, and next time Snarl might not be so lucky.”

  Teg stopped and looked at Snog, as if he’d just realized that the goblin was unbound. “You be okay with he?”

  Lian said, “Yes, my friend. He and I are sort of friends now.”

  Teg smiled broadly. “He be Teg’s friend?”

  “Unless I say otherwise,” Lian said. “Yeah, for now, he’s your friend.”

  When Teg’s brow furrowed in confusion, Lian explained, “He promised to be a friend until the next time Lushran is waning like he is now. Then, we’ll have to see if we are still friends after that, okay?”

  Teg’s confusion faded, and he nodded, waving as he left.

  Snog shook his head, coiling the rope he’d salvaged from the second scout. “That’s the most well behaved and educated ogre I’ve ever seen. Will Snarl look after the big lout?” he asked.

  “Actually, Snarl is his,” Lian said, entering the springh
ouse. “Now, what were you and your companion doing here?”

  Snog went to his companion’s pack and drew out a small vial. He opened it carefully and poured a few drops on his calf muscle where Gem had pierced him. The wounds bubbled and frothed, but when the goblin rinsed off the blood with some of the water from the spring, the flesh was its normal dusky grey hue, and no trace of the wound was evident.

  Such healing draughts were fairly common, and Lian’s own pack had held a variety of curatives. It was a reminder that he’d regret the loss sorely.

  Gem observed, Whatever they did didn’t poison the spring, you’ll notice.

  He nodded mentally. He suspected that they released some creature into the spring water, and that the goblin wasn’t worried about it returning to bite him, at least at present. He had decided it wasn’t poison when the goblin had come sputtering out of the water, without taking any particular pains to keep the fluid out of his mouth.

  Snog picked up a crossbow, one of two, and began inspecting its mechanism. Goblin-made, it was ugly but efficient. Lian retrieved its twin, glad to have a bow of any sort again. It had an extremely powerful draw, but fired very short, heavy bolts. It would hit hard, but have a short range. Both bows had a cranequin for cocking, and would take a fair amount of time to draw. Lian was strong enough, however, that he didn’t really need as much mechanical advantage as a goblin.

  Lian examined the bow and determined that he could refit the mechanism to allow for faster loading once they reached a town with a smithy. He was good with machines.

  “We need to keep moving, so you’ll have to talk on the way,” Lian said, shouldering the second goblin’s pack after taking inventory of its contents.

  “That won’t be problem, milord,” Snog said. “Do you mind smoke?”

  Lian knew that the smell of the goblinish tobacco would leave a trail that could be followed, but neither of them would be taking the time to cover their tracks anyhow. And the knight won’t be following my footprints, either, he thought to himself. It would be relying on other senses entirely.