By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles)

by Houpt, David

  When Lian reached his position, Snog said, “I found it, sir. The lads passed it, an’ by the prints gave the thing a wide berth. I don’t think it’ll be disturbed, ‘less one o’ the werewolves comes back.”

  “Good work, Snog,” Lian said and held out the dagger and scabbard, which he’d removed from his belt. “This is yours now. It’s enchanted for speed and accuracy, and it’s keen enough to shave with.”

  The goblin grinned widely, showing his teeth. He drew the weapon reverently and turned it over in his hands several times, testing the weight and balance. “Do he have a name?” he asked, meaning the blade.

  Lian shook his head. “No, that isn’t the custom among my people, my blade excepted.” He patted Gem affectionately where she hung at his side.

  Snog put the dagger carefully away in his belt and said, “I’ll give that some careful thinkin’, milord.” He turned and squinted one eye up at Lian. He sighed, “Such a gift, milord, ye must know how generous it be.” The goblin’s tone almost held awe that Lian had made good on his promise.

  Lian said, “I do. I’d wager I could get over three hundred shills for such a blade, and you’re welcome to sell it if that’s your wish. You could retire right now with that kind of money.”

  Snog wrapped his hands possessively around the dagger. “That’d be a poor way to repay yer gift, Lord. I’ll be keeping him, prayin’ I won’t have to throw him again,” he said protectively.

  Still grinning like a madman, Snog led them through the forest to the remains of Temvri’s Undead horse. He was muttering to himself in Govlikel, but Lian couldn’t quite make it out.

  He’s talking to the dagger, and asking it what name it likes, Gem said. I think you’ve made a friend out of our vicious little goblin.

  He earned it. His throw probably saved Teg, and Saul wouldn’t have been able to bring the ogre back from a wraith’s kind of death, vampire powers or no. And if the wraith had decided to take Snog’s soul, none of us would have been able to stop it. It was a brave and selfless thing he did, throwing his only defense against the wraiths to try to save the ogre.

  Lian added, Father believed in rewarding good service, and Elowyn believed in making men, and goblins I would guess, beholden to you in personal ways. He still may leave us later on, but his oath keeps him from betraying our secrets, and if he stays he’ll be useful indeed.

  Gem hadn’t realized how much of Elowyn’s teachings the prince had retained. She wasn’t sure she approved the Machiavellian turn of his thoughts, but she had to admit that it would be likely to help keep him alive in the months and years to come.

  The bones of the Undead knight’s horse lay tumbled in a heap, the bit still clenched between the teeth of the skull. Lyrial had apparently fallen sideways as the bones lost coherence, for the saddle lay on its side, driven a little into the ground. There were many goblin-sized footprints around the saddle.

  Lord Grey said dryly, “His bodyguards were quick to help him to his feet. Even so, they seemed worried that he’d blast one or all of them because of the fall.”

  The saddle was old and worn, but in surprisingly good shape. There were four saddlebags, all oversized. Two of them bulged with their squarish contents, which Lian surmised to be a collection of spellbooks. He asked, “He brought his spellbooks with him?”

  The skull said, “Yes. He was very protective of them, as if they held a special significance beyond their use in casting spells. He didn’t trust even his bodyguards to carry the saddlebags, though they were very heavy indeed. He didn’t consult with them, so I had no opportunity to peruse any of the pages.

  “Your pack and its contents are in the next saddlebag, and his personal valuables are in the last one. All of the bags are warded, but I know the pass phrases for the two which don’t contain his books. He did not appear to have placed wards to pass only a particular person, for he had one of the goblins place his gold eating utensils in the fourth bag when he was done.”

  Lian said, “He trusted someone to handle his treasures?” He put the skull carefully down on a flat stone.

  Snog spoke, “Oh, his treasure’s enspelled, but only ‘gainst thieves, sir. One o’ his servants did try to pilfer a coin once, and three days later we found ‘im in his sleeping chamber. He’d choked to death, and when we opened his throat to see what’d done it, a black snake fell out. It was dead, too, but the fangs were sunk into the inside of his windpipe.”

  “Inventive,” Lord Grey said, “but wasteful. Such flashy spells are usually the mark of the less talented among blackrobes. The necromancers to watch are the ones who don’t rely on such showmanship.” The skull had not been impressed with his captor.

  “Since we defeated him in battle,” asked Lian, “are we thieves?”

  “Such spells do usually base their trigger on intent, Alan,” Lord Grey said. “It will be something simple, however. For example, the wards are probably set to look for someone who intends to keep or possess the contents of the bags, and who isn’t the necromancer himself.”

  Lian sighed, “So how do we deal with the anti-theft wardings?”

  The necromancer replied, “I’ll spin a protection about you so that the wards won’t be able to detect your intent. They are woven only on the saddlebags, so all we have to worry about is any traps he may have left behind for someone capable of doing just this.”

  Lord Grey chanted what sounded like a spell. Gem said, There’s no spell, Lian. A betrayal?

  I don’t think so. He knows you can see his magics, Lian said. He tightened his mouth, but the skull spoke before he could say anything.

  “That should place you within a sphere of protection, Alan, such as we had discussed some time ago,” the skull said. His tone was calm and relaxed, as if discussing the proper proportion of meat to potatoes in rabbit stew.

  He means the Key, Lian said to Gem.

  Or he means you to believe that the Key will protect you, she replied, not hiding her distrust and dislike of the black mage. But I know what you’re about to say. We have to trust him or not at all.

  “Thank you, Lord Grey,” said Lian, as he donned his gloves and bent to untie the leather straps which held the bags closed.

  “He may also have been a poisoner,” the prince said in explanation for the gloves.

  “Indeed,” said Lord Grey lightly, chuckling. After a brief pause, he added, “I was.”

  The comment drew a sharp look from both Lian and Snog toward the small rock where Lord Grey rested. Lian shrugged and went back to his work, saying, “Poison’s a weapon just the same as a sword.”

  Present company excepted again, old friend, he said to the sword. The sentiment had been one that Elowyn used, whenever the subject of venoms and toxins had arisen. Lian’s father had regarded poisoners to be without honor, but when he’d approached Adrienne about the subject, she had surprised him.

  ***

  His mother smiled sadly and said, “If you intend to take a man’s life, Lian, it doesn’t matter to me whether you lay him low with a sword, or burn him with magic, or sprinkle some arsenic into his food. The fact is, he’s equally dead in any of these cases.”

  Lian disagreed with her and said, “But at least he has a chance to defend himself if you don’t use poison—”

  “Ah, my son,” she interrupted, still smiling ruefully. “Do you really think that a regular soldier would have a chance if I decided to burn him down?”

  “Well, he could invest in some kind of charm to hold your magics at bay long enough to stop you . . . ” he said, his sentence left unfinished as a thought occurred to him.

  “ . . . but then he could have bought something to warn him of poisoning,” Lian finished.

  Adrienne nodded. “Yes. And if you were behind enemy lines, and a single guard were between you and escape, would you stop to challenge him to a duel? No, for he would warn his comrades and you would be killed.

  “It would be a knife in the liver and a hand clamped over his mouth, wouldn’t it?” she aske
d.

  Lian nodded. Elowyn had been teaching him how to eliminate sentries. Lian realized, only now, that his mother was likely aware of that. He found the realization somewhat disturbing.

  “I wish Dunshor was a more peaceful land, Lian,” she said, crouching and taking her son’s shoulders in her hands. “I don’t approve of Elowyn’s instruction, for he is teaching you to kill your enemies, whether it is by your hand or the hands of those who serve you. I hate killing.”

  Lian nodded somberly at the queen. “I know, mother. But if I don’t learn these things, someone will put a knife in my liver some day, won’t he?”

  Adrienne said, “Yes, my son,” and rose to accompany her youngest child, then only nine, to his next lesson.

  ***

  The necromancer’s saddlebag contained a variety of items that Lian supposed were of use to his type of black magic. Dried bones and desiccated animal carcasses were among the more pleasant findings, and Lian was glad he’d chosen to wear gloves and to treat the bags as carefully as he had. Two live black widow spiders tumbled to the ground along with the other things. Each of them was the size of Lian’s palm, and they skittered away from Lian quickly when they hit the ground.

  Snog whispered an oath in his own tongue and nailed them both with accurately thrown rocks before they could reach cover. Lian inspected the empty saddlebag carefully to make sure that there were no other nasty creatures inside, then bent over the remainder.

  With Lord Grey’s help, he sorted the items into three piles. The first they called junk, which included material components for Lyrial’s spells as well as personal items such as a spare set of gloves. Neither Lian nor Snog were willing to risk the wearing of any of the necromancer’s clothes.

  The second pile they simply called the money pile. It included the valuables that Lyrial had accumulated which were not also magical in some way. This pile contained both coins and gems as well as the golden eating utensils that Snog had described. Upon examination, these turned out to be gold-plated lead, with the plating wearing thin in places.

  There were few copper coins, but over a hundred silver ones. There were four newly minted gold coins among the loot as well, the symbol of Dunshor’s royal house upon them. There were three matched red agates, more valuable sold as a set than they would be separately. Also among the treasure were three black pearls, a tiny sapphire of uncommon clarity, and a silver ring with a slightly clouded but very large emerald.

  However, the value of all the rest of the loot combined paled in comparison to that of the two small ingots of lashthirin which Lyrial had hoarded. Each small lump weighed only a few ounces, but the pair of Truesilver pieces held a value of over a thousand pieces of gold. It was enough money to hire and equip an entire company of soldiers and have enough left over to pay their wages through their first year. In the silver-based economy to which Lian was accustomed, it was an incredible fortune.

  The third pile contained items that Lord Grey and Gem identified as being magical. Lord Grey singled out a small copper ring set with what appeared to be a fine ruby, and identified it as a likely magical trap or curse.

  “The ruby is a fake, but a very good one,” he said. “Furthermore, the magic of the ring is woven in upon itself, rendering it difficult to discern its purpose.” The skull recommended burying the ring.

  The other magical gewgaws were a lizard’s egg which was as hard as stone, a rib bone which Lord Grey speculated came from an infant, a small vial of a black oily liquid, and a second vial of a glowing green watery liquid.

  “I need to ponder these things carefully, Alan,” said the necromancer. “Place them in the sack with me, and I’ll try to get a good look at their magic. And before you ask, it would have to be quite a curse to affect me. My bindings are sometimes a blessing.”

  The other saddlebag contained Lian’s battered pack in its entirety, including the two fine teardrop-shaped pearls woven into the lining, and even his shortsword. Of the crossbow and bolts, there was no sign. Lian guessed that Lyrial was planning to examine his things carefully after he had captured the prince.

  Weariness was beginning to overtake Lian, and he thought perhaps Lord Grey’s potion was wearing off. As if the necromancer was reading his mind, he said, “You look worn out, Alan. That curative you drank would have exhausted its usefulness, I should think. Let us find shelter and you need to eat a good meal and get some sleep. All of the remaining Companions combined won’t be able to gain entry to this ‘bakery’ once I’m done with it, so you may rest easy.”

  Lian nodded, gathering the loot while Snog carefully buried the ring. They left the necromancer’s “junk” behind, and made their way to the bakery. Snog said that he felt fine, so he’d go round up something small and tasty. Lian, tired and sore from his exertions, expressed his gratitude to the little goblin, and settled down to rest. He remembered Snog’s departure, but dozed during the goblin’s absence. Gem’s warning that someone was approaching woke him, but he relaxed when Snog announced himself.

  Snog returned carrying a small pig, which he had found rooting around the edge of the forest. He had already dressed it (and eaten its heart and liver, he confessed) and now he used one of his older knives to quarter it and place it upon the sheet the vampire had used to cook the rabbits.

  Lian dozed again while the pig was roasting, and later awoke to a well-prepared meal. “I used some o’ yer spices, milord,” Snog said, adding, “with yer Lady Sword’s leave, o’course.” Lord Grey’s appellation for Gem seemed to be sticking.

  Lian ate ravenously, and fell back into a deep slumber, haunted by nightmares of the Tower and of the fate of his family. Despite the night terrors, he slept soundly through the remainder of the night and most of the day. The sun was fairly low in the west when he finally sat up and stretched. Snog opened one eye from his doze, then closed it again, without even interrupting his snoring.

  Lian had a headache, which he attributed to sleeping for too long, but otherwise he felt fine. He had worried that the numbness in his left shoulder might return, but there was no sign of it. He slipped outside to relieve himself, after checking to make sure that he was still alone.

  He saw a hawk lazily circling over the city, well out of the range of his goblin-made crossbow. No matter. There was still pig meat to spare, kept hot in the oven. It would be dry but unspoiled. Lian’s own crossbow hadn’t been among the things they’d found in Lyrial’s saddlebags, and he lamented its loss. It had a slightly weaker draw, but it fired lighter, longer quarrels with a much greater range.

  He went back inside, judging that there was perhaps twenty minutes until sunset. Snog roused more fully this time, and said, “I’ll be joinin’ ye in a fast minute, milord.” The goblin got up and stretched, popping joints all over his body. He went outside, returning in time to see Lian slicing up some of the pig.

  “Wish we had time to preserve this,” Lian said, “but I’ve still got trail rations in my pack. I hope that the blackrobe didn’t poison them.”

  “Unlikely,” Lord Grey said, keeping vigil from atop the ovens. “He would never have expected you to defeat him, Alan.”

  Lian nodded. “I concur, which is why I’m not tossing my recovered equipment into the junk pile. What should we do with his spellbooks?”

  “If you don’t mind the weight, Alan, I would like the chance to peruse them. One never knows what secrets a fellow practitioner might have gleaned from the universe.”

  Lian nodded assent, retrieving his gear and tying the short sword’s belt around his waist.

  The goblin and the prince had a meal of pork, still tasty despite the fact that it was somewhat dry. They ate their fill, and Lian tossed the remains out the window, leaving meat and bones alike for the scavengers.

  Lian gathered his equipment, and placed Lord Grey back into his sack. “I’ll find something better to carry you in, sir,” he promised.

  “This is better than a silver, or even a gilded cage, I assure you,” the necromancer with a touch o
f sardonicism.

  Lord Grey continued, “Our guests are approaching. Go outside to meet them, and I’ll leave the wards on this structure intact, just in case.”

  Lian nodded, and motioned Snog to follow him outside. Dusk had deepened into true night, with only the dark Dalzana in the sky as yet. Neither of them needed light to see by, however, and they easily spotted Saul and Teg approaching along a city street. Saul waved in greeting, and Teg shouted hello.

  As they came closer, Lian noticed Teg becoming uncomfortable, shying away from the side of the street where the bakery was located. Saul gave the building a single look and then seemed to ignore it.

  The wardings are making themselves felt, Lian said to Gem.

  You know I don’t like the skull, son, she replied. I have to admit, though, that I’m glad he put the warding up. We’re in the vampire’s territory, and a refuge of any kind might become a necessity.

  Lian agreed, but advanced to greet the two vampires.

  “How are you, Teg?” he asked, extending his hand to the ogre.

  Teg grasped his hand gently, long accustomed to treating the smaller folk gingerly, and said, “I be fine. Things is be changed, but Saul be teachin’ me. Snarl like me, but I no talk to him no more.”

  Saul took the ogre’s other hand reassuringly and said, “Vampires are never psionic, as far as I’ve been able to determine. But there are compensations.

  “We have much to discuss, Highness.”

  Lian said, “We do, indeed. Again, sir, I thank you for your assistance against Lyrial and his servants. Your wolves, at least, suffered a heavy toll during the battle.”

  “They did, indeed. But there will be more wolves,” the vampire replied. “I had my reasons for helping you, and if you are rested enough to hear my tale, I’ll explain a couple of them.” With a hard glance at the bakery and its wards, he motioned them to a grouping of stone benches which had remained intact under the fallen eaves of another building.

  Teg sat on the ground with his legs crossed, leaning on a crumbling wall. His expression was one Lian associated with children and storytellers. The vampire, the prince, and the goblin sat down on the benches, Saul dragging his around to face Teg and the others. Snog had a pipe ready to light, and did so, but Lian noticed that his hand hovered near the enchanted dagger at all times.