By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles)

by Houpt, David

  “And if ye don’t, I’ll be there to ‘mind you.”

  Lian gazed at the chuckling goblin calmly. “I always remember my obligations, scout. All right, let’s see how we shake out for the first month. If after that time, you still want in with me, and I still want you in with me, we’ll arrange something more permanent.”

  The goblin proffered his hand to the prince, saying in unbroken Dunshor, “Fair enough, milord. You’ve been a dragonslength more fair with me than most would’ve been.”

  Lian took his hand without hesitation.

  They talked in restrained tones as they walked, keeping a watchful eye. It was determined that Snog was to be “Alan’s” henchman and bodyguard. They agreed that no mention of the matter which had brought them together should be made, since their stories wouldn’t mesh.

  “I’ll tell ‘em that it be a matter ‘tween us an’ us alone,” Snog said, reverting to his baser speech pattern. Quite a few mercenaries used goblins as their minions, and most of those soldiers had very unsavory reputations. This was primarily due to the belief that if one was willing to deal with goblins, there was little he wasn’t willing to do.

  A relatively loyal goblin scout could also recruit additional goblins as troops for a mercenary unit. Of course, these troops were often unreliable, but they worked cheap and were easily kept in line by the larger and more intimidating human sergeants and officers.

  “Alan,” then, was a nobleman’s youngest son, down on his luck, searching for work as a mercenary. Lian actually did hope to sign onto a ship bound for a distant port, because he wanted to put some significant distance between himself and Rishak’s assassins. Distance was quite possibly his only hope.

  They reached a small clearing where blackberry bushes grew, laden with dark fruit. Snog grunted in pleasure, and at a nod from Lian started to gather the fruit, collecting it in the empty jars. Lian took advantage of the break to sit down and collect his thoughts. He was surprised at his lack of fatigue.

  You must be exhausted. Gem said, mirroring his thoughts with her comment.

  Not at all. I guess it’s Lord Grey’s restorative. I’m waiting for it to wear off; I’ll probably drop, then, he replied, checking over the remainder of his equipment.

  I almost forgot, I need to pay the goblin his silver, he said after he checked his belt pouch. With a heavy sigh, he unbound the knot on his belt pouch. It was enspelled to be an impossible knot for anyone other than Lian to untie, a minor and common enchantment. It didn’t provide any protection from a cutpurse, but it was something.

  The handful of coins in his pouch were all that remained of his operating funds, since the gems he’d received from Elowyn were lost with his pack. The jingling coins attracted the goblin scout’s attention, and he approached eagerly with his three jars full of blackberries to collect his promised money.

  Lian shook the coins from the bag, ready to count out the silver ones to pay Snog. The first two coins to fall out, however, were copper and far larger than those minted in Dunshor and its surrounding kingdoms. The young prince yelped as if he’d been bitten by a viper and dropped the coins, pouch and all.

  Much to Gem’s surprise, Snog didn’t dive for the loose coins, but instead drew his sharp knife and whirled around looking for threats. He lost two of his three jars in the process, but they fell unharmed to the grassy ground.

  “What is it, lord?” he hissed, his eyes on the surrounding trees.

  Lian shook off his alarm, and bent with a shaking hand to pick up one of the two Fulnorian coins that the barmaid had given him in change. “Gods and the Goddess!” he exclaimed aloud, “It really did happen!”

  Gem didn’t know what he was talking about, but she could tell from the lettering on the coin that it was not locally minted. She recognized some of the symbols as those used by the Southron Empire, but most of them were alien to her. Engraved on the coin was a deer’s head on one side and something resembling an ifrit on the other.

  Is that from your vision? she asked Lian calmly, broadcasting serenity and peace to her charge.

  Yes, it is, Lian replied. Aloud, he said, “During my escape, I was knocked out. While I was unconscious, I had a vision involving the goddess my people call K’Vas.”

  Snog nodded. “We call her A’shriv’ka, which means ‘Young Avenger.’ She has quite a following among A’kra Vilsha, actually. Given your experiences, milord, I’m not surprised she came to you.” Again, his pidgin accent had vanished, as if the talk of gods required more formal speech.

  With a sidelong glance at his new boss, he asked, “So does this mean you’re on a vengeance quest?”

  Lian shook his head. “No,” he said.

  “And did that go over well with the goddess?”

  “Yes. For some reason, I think she preferred it that way,” he returned. “Don’t ask me why.”

  “Who am I but a poor goblin, unfit to delve into the motivations of the gods?” the goblin remarked. With a grin, he sheathed his knife and picked up the blackberries he’d dropped. He divided them, offering a double share to Lian. “You’re a mite bigger than me, milord. Ye’ll be needin’ more food, I reckon.” He slipped back into his “dumb goblin” accent smoothly.

  “You seem to be accepting my revelation pretty calmly,” Lian said. “Not to mention her arrangement of money from the vision to appear in my purse.” He ate a couple of blackberries. They were at the peak of ripeness, and tasted wonderful. He tried not to think about what had dwelt in the jar before the goblin filled it with the berries.

  Snog shook his head. “Our gods are very much a part of our daily lives, milord. I talk to mine all the time, and sometimes she even answers me. That’s part of the reason I’m going with you, though that’s not all of it.” He grabbed a handful of the berries and stuffed his mouth full, enjoying them with gusto.

  “Who is your goddess?” Lian asked.

  “Our name for her is Saael, which means simply ‘shadow,’ milord,” Snog explained around another mouthful of berries. “She’s the thief who comes in the darkness, and the patron of those who practice my profession. I think that you humans call her by the same name, in the aspect she reveals to you.”

  Shadow was indeed the name of the patron of thieves and spies. Elowyn’s patron goddess held yet another name among the elves, Aoise, but it held the same meaning. Lian was amazed to learn that so many of his people’s gods were common to the other races.

  You’d think that there’d be fewer wars, with religions in common, he commented to Gem.

  She chuckled. Humans share the same gods, within a region. How many wars have you studied that involved peoples with similar gods? I think sometimes that common religions actually escalate the wars. And not all of the gods of Dunshor are shared among the goblins, nor are all of their gods worshipped outside of their culture.

  Also, what’s to stop a god from adopting different aspects among various cultures? she asked.

  Nothing, I suppose, he said.

  “Snog, you seem to be quite well educated for a failed shamanic apprentice, as you’d like me to believe,” Lian said suddenly.

  Snog started. “That obvious, was I?”

  Lian didn’t reply.

  “I’m in the service of Saael, but I’m not a priest,” Snog said. “Does that answer your question?” He shrugged and finished his berries, economically replacing the jar in his pack.

  “I didn’t actually ask you a question, but yes, it will serve,” Lian replied. The scout implied that he was an agent of Saael. Dalgarin/K’Vas had offered a similar status to Lian, which would have granted him a moderate amount of power while binding him to her service.

  Lian wasn’t acquainted with the benefits and requirements of the goblinish cult of Saael, but he suspected that it represented very little material assistance. The goblin gods, from what little he’d read, appeared to allow their subject goblins to be slaughtered so that the strong would survive. It was unlikely that Snog’s goddess would lift a finger to pull his fa
t out of the fire if he screwed up.

  She would help him in other ways, but that was, in the end, between Snog and her.

  “She gave you those coins for a reason,” Snog said, “so I’d interpret that as a message.”

  “And what is she telling me?” Lian asked. He had finished most of his second jar, and patting his stomach handed the remainder to the goblin.

  Snog seemed pleased that his opinion was being sought, but shrugged and said, “Search me, milord. She ain’t my goddess, ‘n t’weren’t my vision. I’d be thinking about what she means by it, though, were I you.” He gladly accepted the rest of the berries and downed them in no time at all.

  Lian snorted. “That’s not exactly as helpful as I’d hoped, Snog.”

  “Heh. I meant what I said about her not being my goddess, milord,” the goblin said, hopping agilely over a fallen log. “It lies between the two of you, and I’m not fool enough to step in the middle of it.”

  Lian was again surprised by the goblin’s intelligence. There was far more to Snog than met the eye.

  Gem must have been thinking along the same vein, for she said, He impresses me. If the goblins that attacked after the rebellion had been led by his sort, you’d never have been born, most likely.

  I agree. It’s time for you to cloak yourself, my friend, Lian replied.

  He drew her forth, causing the goblin to watch him with sudden interest. However, there was no fear in the goblin’s eyes, only wariness, until the sword began her spell. Gem began to sing, a beautiful and melodious tune which formed motes of colorful light around the two humanoid figures. They whirled about, through the trees and the leaves, startling a thrush from the undergrowth. Snog avoided them where he could, but was already relaxing from his initial fright at her display of sorcery.

  The motes, displaying the array of colors of the gems in her hilt, converged in a complex dance around the sword, which Lian held outstretched before him. As they gently landed on the sword, the portion they covered appeared to change. Where gleaming Truesilvered steel had been, now a blackened and scarred blade could be seen. The gems and gold of her hilt were supplanted by a simple red crystal pommel clutched by a dragon’s claw. Even the fine blue-dyed leather on the grip became worn and dull brown.

  As the last notes of the song faded, Gem’s physical characteristics were completely hidden beneath a powerful Seeming, a glamour so strong that basic countermagics wouldn’t penetrate it. The sword she now appeared to be was of fine quality, simply functional, and unadorned, although well-used. Her Seeming was as complex as the dance of the motes had been, and concealed the nature of her magical presence as well. The blade Lian carried would appear to be somewhat magical, for she could not completely hide her presence in the best of circumstances. She would appear, however, to magical eyes, to be far less than she was.

  “That was impressive,” commented Snog, peering closely at the weapon held out before him, parallel to the ground. “I can’t see any flaw in the illusion at all. May I touch it?”

  Lian nodded, adding, “Yes, but take care. She’s sharper than a razor, and that hasn’t changed just because her appearance has.”

  “She?” the goblin asked, stressing the word.

  He’s right, boy. You need to refer to me as “it,” or you’ll give us away, Gem admonished. The goblin was much more than he seemed.

  Snog felt along the blade, pausing to rummage in his sack. “Cold iron,” he said, producing a few slivers of metal from a small pouch. “Never know when you’re going to be caught in a Faerie circle.”

  “Especially when you’re doing something the forest folk wouldn’t approve of,” Lian said wryly.

  The goblin chuckled. “That’s about the measure of it, milord,” he said as he gently rubbed the metal slivers along Gem’s blade. There was no reaction from the metal, and it held its appearance. One could even see the faint scratches where the iron brushed against the blade.

  “Well woven,” he pronounced with a smile, and produced a small lodestone with which he carefully collected the iron fragments and replaced them in the pouch.

  It was, Gem said with some pride and no small amount of weariness in her mental “tone.” I’m not going to talk directly to him so he won’t get in the habit of thinking of me as a person.

  That’s going to be a hard habit for me to break, old friend, Lian replied. Are you all right?

  Gem indicated that she would be fine, with some rest before her next spellcasting.

  I think that once we reach Mola, we should find a ship bound for the south, Lian said to Gem. I assume that’s what the goddess is trying to tell me.

  Gem “shrugged.” I don’t know, really, what she’s trying to tell you, if anything. Maybe she simply placed the coins in your purse so you’d know you weren’t hallucinating.

  I don’t think so, Gem. The gods seem quite willing to let you ignore them when you’re foolish enough to do so, at least in the legends. No, I believe it was a message, and that’s the only sense I can make of it.

  I suppose south’s as good a direction as any, my boy, she said. Distance is the key, here. Rishak already has a cadre of assassins available. I have every hope that some of them died in the attack, but he’ll still have a huge array of murderers and killers to draw from. I hope I don’t have to tell you what he’ll hire some of them to do.

  Lian knew full well that he would be the target of a massive manhunt, and that Greythorn was far too close to Dunshor to overlook. We’ll have to hope for the best, lady.

  He sighed and clapped the goblin on the shoulder, giving him a rueful smile.

  “So, onto Greythorn, milord?” Snog asked.

  “Aye,” Lian replied, sheathing the blade. He had been offended when Elowyn had insisted on an unadorned and unremarkable scabbard for the enchanted blade that was his closest friend. Now, he was grateful for it.

  Shortly after nightfall, they reached the overgrown ruins that were the former capitol of the Kingdom of Greythorn.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Woe to the world! Dalshana returns and the skies darken. Let the faithful be ever vigilant, for the time of evil has returned. Let the Lords of Light bestow upon us protection against the minions of Dalshan.”

  -- Ritual prayer marking the 26-day period in which the moon Dalshana orbits Tieran.

  The forest city of Greythorn had been built on a long, sloping hill. The castle itself butted up against a promontory, an orphaned peak of the mountain chains to the south. The peak could barely be considered a mountain, rising only a few thousand feet over the hill country below it, but its cliffs provided an adequate base upon which to construct a defensible fortress.

  The village lay scattered below Greythorn Castle, comprised mostly of small stone buildings that once had possessed thatched roofs. Greythorn occupied the highest land in the region, so they were not able to survey the entire village. What they could see, however, indicated that no one had lived here for a long time. The ground-cover plants of the forest floor had voraciously consumed the city, overgrowing streets, pathways, and yards in their relentless quest for more light.

  It was a quest doomed to fail, for the two warriors could see that there were oak, elm, and greythorn trees beginning to grow within the demesnes of the city, and they would eventually claim the sunlight for themselves. For now, however, the trees were little more than saplings, and the ground plants were dominant.

  A few buildings still had mostly intact roofs, and to Lian’s eye, the sack of Greythorn hadn’t employed much in the way of siege engines. The walls surrounding the keep had been breached, though, so some means of breaking the fortification had been brought to bear.

  Lian could see the occasional crow or jay fly from building to building, but there was no other movement in the town. Unlike Whitefall, however, which had the look and feel of tragedy and death, Greythorn was still a living place, though abandoned by humans.

  It was eerie to be treading on soil upon which his parents’ army had camped
, and fought, long before he was born. He knew that under the vines and creepers were broken arrowheads and spear tips, mixed with a generous portion of bones from the fallen of both sides.

  The wind was shifting, and as it came around to blow into their faces, the smell of cooking meat wafted over them. Oddly, there was no accompanying smell of woodsmoke.

  Lian and Snog looked at each other and said at the same time, “Rabbit.”

  Elowyn’s intelligence indicated that this place was abandoned, Gem said. We should probably leave.

  No, Lian replied. Those reports were sketchy, and it’s obvious that there aren’t many folks here. It’s probably just the man that Teg mentioned, Saul.

  What if it’s one of Rishak’s killers?

  Then we’re sunk already, and you know it, Lian replied.

  I don’t like it, Gem grumbled.

  “I don’t like it,” Lian said, echoing his sword’s worries. He had learned not to ignore her.

  Snog nodded. “Uh-huh. Shall I do a little sneakin’, milord?” He loosened his knives in their scabbards and drew out his crossbow. Slowly enough to be nearly silent, he began to turn the cranequin.

  Lian followed suit. “No, I think we should stick together. Anyone brave enough to enter a supposedly haunted city is likely to know enough wood lore to catch you. Teg spoke of a ranger who dwelt near here, named Saul.”

  Snog sighed. “Maybe I’d be better, makin’ meself scarce?”

  Lian said, “No. If he finds you alone, he’s likely to shoot first. If you stay with me, he’ll probably just threaten to shoot you first.”

  “That’s nay very comfortin’.”

  They loaded their crossbows and moved into the city. While Lian considered himself to be pretty quiet as he moved through the vegetation-choked streets, he had to strain to hear evidence of Snog’s passage. The occasional creak of the goblin’s leather armor was the only noise he could discern.

  The smell of roasting rabbit was a reminder to both of them that they hadn’t had much to eat except for the blackberries. The aroma strengthened as they located and approached a building whose chimney betrayed a shimmer of heat at its top, though there was no smoke. To Lian, the grumbling of his belly seemed as loud as thunder, though he knew that it wasn’t really making much sound.