By Blood Betrayed (The Kingsblood Chronicles)

by Houpt, David

  Snog had flatly refused to ride “that unnatural beastie” across the river, so he traversed at the shallowest point, clutching one of the spidersilk ropes while Lian held the other end secured about his saddlehorn. He emerged soaked to his thighs, and nearly lost his footing at the deepest point, but maintained that a wet, treacherous crossing was better than splattering his brains on a rock when his mount threw him. Gem, savoring her newly restored magic, sang a minor spell, and Snog discovered he was suddenly dry.

  “Ah!” the goblin exclaimed in surprise, then said, “Um, m’ thanks, Lady Sword, ma’am. I’d ‘ave dried on me own, like as not.”

  Lian said, “She knows that, Snog. I think she’s simply pleased to have the freedom to do that again.”

  Gem said to Lian, I should have remembered that goblins don’t like magic much, except for that performed by artificers. Should I apologize? Lian indicated that she didn’t need to.

  They continued toward the seaport. Lord Grey was tucked away in his sack, and had remained silent for most of the day. Lian observed Snog’s sidelong glances at the saddlebag, and sympathized with the goblin’s uneasiness.

  Gem’s thoughts were also centered on the necromancer. I wonder how much of his own mana reserves he depleted combating that curse? Gem asked Lian. I know that much unweaving would drain me considerably. Unweaving a permanent or embedded spell was a far more complex task than countering a cast spell, for the latter’s strands were not generally tied off and inaccessible. Countermagics sought to pull the key strand of the magic loose, leaving the rest to unravel harmlessly.

  Probably not much. The battle magics he threw when we escaped from the Tower didn’t seem to affect him at all, and neither did that tentacled horror that he tossed at the goblin infantry. But the information might be useful to know, he replied.

  “Lord Grey?” he asked, not turning to look at the saddlebag in which the necromancer rode.

  “Yes, Alan?” the skull replied, his voice not at all muffled despite his surroundings.

  “I don’t expect you to disclose to us the limits of your abilities, but I would like to have some idea about whether you are still capable of spellcasting or not.” Some mages did not possess much innate power, and could only cast one or two spells before having to rest. Others had a huge wellspring of power to draw upon, which could fuel their magics for extended periods.

  “A fair question,” Lord Grey said after pausing a moment to think. “The unweaving did not drain my resources excessively. I can simply inform you that I still have at least as much of a power reserve as your blade does, and a great deal more skill at applying it than she possesses, at this stage in her life.” Mages with deficient innate mana could extend their power considerably by becoming very skilled, if they had the voice for it. A tight, well-sung spell consumed significantly less power than one sloppily constructed.

  Of course, in the case of a fire spell, either would burn the target alive adequately.

  The most dangerous kind of mage was one who possessed both a great deal of power and skill. Lian had no doubt that Lord Grey was one of these. His Aunt Jisa was probably another.

  “Okay,” Lian said. “That’s enough for my purposes. Please be sure to warn me, though, if your magic becomes depleted during a battle.”

  Lord Grey said, “No promises, Alan. After all, the enemy can hear my voice, too. If I have the opportunity to do so, all I can say is that I’ll consider it.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes before Lord Grey spoke again, “Look at my situation this way, my newest friend. You do not trust me, for reasons of which we are both aware. This means that my inclusion in your band is not certain, and you may at some point decide that you need to be rid of me. You are a moral and ethical young man, and I don’t think for a moment that you will leave me alone to make my own way.

  “I rather think that you would drop me off at a major temple to Rula Golden, or perhaps Damar the Avenger, with plenty of warnings to the priesthood about how dangerous I am,” the skull said, his tone laden with irony.

  “It is important, then, that I not know the true limits of your abilities, so I can’t give them sufficient information to restrain you?” Lian asked with a half-smile. To Gem he added, Actually, if it came to that, I planned to find the biggest dragon I could and give him to it, with plenty of warnings to the wyrm about how dangerous he is.

  Sneaky boy, she said. But better you never tell him that, so he’ll be off guard.

  “Exactly,” said the skull. “As time goes on, and we learn more of each other, there may come a time when you actually trust me, and therefore I will be more able to trust you.”

  Something else I won’t tell him is that for the most part, I do trust him, Lian confided to Gem.

  You can’t be serious, Gem replied, surprised.

  I am. I think he is honorable, though I can’t give you my reasons why. I’ll still watch what he does, but only because Elowyn taught me to be excessively paranoid. He would have to betray us dreadfully before I’d search for a dragon to keep him, or a temple for that matter. Lian sighed and said, “I sincerely hope that trust comes sooner rather than later, Lord Grey.”

  The skull chuckled but didn’t reply.

  They located a small farmstead later that afternoon, set in a good size clearing. It was obvious to Lian that the holding had been in existence for a long time, for there were no cut stumps or other signs that the forest had been recently cleared. There were a dozen men and half that many women working in the fields, and they regarded the two riders warily as they passed.

  Lian’s sword-enhanced hearing detected muttering about “goblins and mercenary scum,” but the farmers didn’t interrupt their work beyond pausing to ensure that they had implements at hand to use as weapons. Lian simply raised his hand in greeting while he led Snog across the edge of the field to continue toward Mola. The farmers didn’t return his gesture.

  “Friendly folk,” growled the goblin.

  “They’ve little reason to be friendly, Snog,” Lian replied. “Your kind has never been well loved in this area, the little trick with the spring aside. I expect we’ll some trouble over your presence in town, too. I’ll make it clear that you are with me.”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ about that, milord,” Snog said, “an’ I’m not so sure we ought ta’ be together when we reach town.”

  “How so?” Lian asked, turning in his saddle to look at the goblin.

  Snog dropped his accented speech. “What I mean, lord, is that it might be more beneficial if the folk in Mola are not aware that you have a goblin in your company. Even if there isn’t an assassin already in town waiting for you, there will be sooner or later. If they don’t know you’ve got a goblin companion, your cover might last a little longer when we arrive.”

  Lian was pleased that the goblin had thought that far in advance. “I’ve been thinking along those lines, too. But I don’t really think it will matter. It’s not the fact that I have a goblin companion that will mark me. It’s that I’m a young man matching my own description. I’d frankly rather have you with me to watch my back than not.”

  “As you wish, milord,” the goblin replied.

  Lord Grey spoke, pitching his voice low enough not to be heard by the farm folk, “I will ensure that the sphere is about you when we reach Mola. This will confound any detection spells intended to identify you as the prince. For some assassins, this alone will be enough to discount you. However, we will have to be extremely careful.

  “The sphere will not shield you from spells designed to pierce illusion, so you may wish to consider concealing Gem, at least until we are away from the area. That’s why I am not going to weave a seeming about you. I do have a spell that will alter your appearance, but I hesitate to suggest using it,” the skull said, his voice becoming somber.

  Lian asked, “What does the spell involve, Lord Grey?”

  I see a possible betrayal, Lian, said Gem warningly. She thought privately that if she had skin
, the skull would make it crawl.

  “Contact with Undead can age a mortal,” Lord Grey explained. “I’m sure you’ve seen this at some point, or at least heard of it?”

  Lian nodded and Lord Grey continued, “I have a necromantic spell which has a similar effect. It is a permanent alteration, and it will reduce your lifespan by the years you age. It is irreversible, except through the most potent life-extending magics.”

  “What happens to the years you steal?” asked Snog, who had gleaned intimate knowledge of necromancy from his clan’s subjugation.

  If Lord Grey experienced any bitterness toward the goblin for interfering with his suggestion, his tone didn’t reveal it. “It becomes power that I can store and use later. Necromancers have many spells which deal with the garnering of life force to use in spellcasting. This one merely uses lifespan.”

  Lian said, “We’ve got one more day until we reach Mola. Before I even consider it, however, there are some things I must know.”

  “Ask,” said the skull simply.

  “You said that the years I age will be deducted from my lifespan. Does that mean that if I was fated to die at twenty, and you age me to twenty-one, I will suddenly drop dead?”

  Lord Grey replied, “No. If your body would have died of old age at twenty, you would die. However, if you were fated to die at twenty because of a prophecy or curse, you will continue to live until that year, rather than that age. Those who die as a direct result of this aging spell are usually ones I age beyond the point where they would have died normally. Some of them, with weak hearts, die from a smaller ‘dose’ of the spell due to heart failure. But my suggestion is to age you only five years, which shouldn’t be too much of a shock to your system.

  “There is a problem with this plan, young Alan. When we return to your homelands, you won’t be the right age. If this doesn’t occur for fifteen years, that won’t matter, but if you need to identify yourself to loyalists before then, there will those who say that you cannot be the crown prince because you are too old.”

  “At this point, Lord Grey, I seriously doubt that I will be able to return home in under ten years, minimum. I don’t know what my plans will be at this point, but I do know whatever my eventual plan, it will be a long time before I am ready to act on it,” Lian explained.

  Snog shook his head, fingering the pommel of his dagger nervously. Lian leaned over to clap the goblin reassuringly on the shoulder, then picked up the pace to carry them further away from the farmers.

  “How long does the spell take to cast?” he asked.

  “It is a combat spell, Alan. Moments only,” Lord Grey replied.

  Lian nodded. “I’ll give you an answer, then, before Mola. I have to think about this.”

  “Of course,” the skull said calmly. All trace of his normal sardonicism were absent from his tone. “This is a dangerous spell, I readily admit. And it requires a great deal of trust on your part, for I could appropriate your entire life if I wished. In my defense, I will point out that had I wished to do so, I would have left your sword drained.”

  “Perhaps, sir,” Lian said, irony now in his tone. “Or perhaps it was part of a much deeper game you are playing.”

  The skull laughed again then became silent.

  You aren’t going to let him do this thing, are you? asked Gem.

  Probably not. But a fourteen year old warrior wandering the world is certainly a dangerous thing to be. I’m not happy at the prospect of losing those years, believe me, he replied.

  But it’s better than losing all of your remaining years to the assassin’s knife, eh? she asked rhetorically. Lian didn’t need to answer.

  Neither the sword nor her charge approved of the proposal, but it would likely help them confound pursuers. There was a world of difference between searching for a fourteen year old boy and hunting for a man under the age of thirty.

  Two hours out of Mola, within sight of the Kyrian Sea, Lian said, “I don’t see a better way to keep my identity secret, Lord Grey, but I’m not willing to sacrifice so much right now. Instead, Gem will weave an illusion to change my age and appearance. We’ll hope that any assassins we encounter won’t be able to penetrate it. I’m not going to wrap Gem. Because of her size and shape, there will be no question that the package contains a sword, and the obvious reason for someone to hide a sword is because someone’s looking for it.”

  “I disagree with your decision,” said Lord Grey, “but I understand your reasons. However, I will still do what I can to aid you. Doubtless, some of your uncle’s mages are as amoral as his wife is, or Lyrial was for that matter, and I don’t relish the thought of encountering them.”

  At the bottom of the rise, Lian had Gem weave an illusory seeming about him, which caused him to appear ten years older, and to be of darker complexion. He was still obviously from the west, but his features were quite unlike his own. “The spell can’t alter your voice or your scent,” Gem warned. “It should, however, be moderately difficult to penetrate. Lord Grey’s ‘sphere of protection’ will keep a general illusion detection from identifying the glamour. To see beneath the illusion, someone will have not only have detected it, but they will also have to use magics specifically designed to pierce illusions.”

  Lian had been taught to pitch his voice low by Elowyn, who punished mistakes harshly. “Does this sound different enough to pass muster?” Lian asked huskily in his “adult” voice.

  “It does if you can maintain that tone and inflection,” the skull judged. “If not, I know of some herbs which will lower your voice.”

  Lian blinked, and Lord Grey explained, “There are spells which require a certain vocal range to perform, and consequently herbalists have discovered the means to induce changes in pitch and range. We can probably procure the necessary items from an herbalist in Mola, provided that we can ensure that the person is discreet.

  “In my experience, most herbalists are,” he said with a chuckle.

  Lian said, “I can hold the pitch indefinitely, even in battlefield conditions. It would have to be an extreme surprise to jolt me out of character.”

  “I can vouch for that,” added Gem. “He had a very demanding teacher.”

  Lian admonished both the sword and the skull from speaking from that moment on unless it was absolutely necessary. He then checked to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently silenced Lord Grey. He and Snog subsequently struck up a conversation about mercenary prospects, which they were still discussing as they approached within sight of the seaport of Mola.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “The moon farthest from Tieran is pale Sterath, representing the God of Fate. Possessing the lengthiest cycle of all the moons, Sterath waxes and wanes in a five month rhythm. Thus, Sterath is full at Year’s End only once every five years.

  “It is no surprise, then, that the traditional number associated with fates and dooms is five. We say, ‘what ye sow shall be reaped fivefold,’ and, ‘the mirror shattered shall five years unluck begin.’ Five years is the classical period for divine vengeance to come to fruition, and indeed five is the number of taelsa which serve the Grim Lord.”

  -- “Moons and their Gods,” heretical text from the

  Western Kingdom of Thrace, author unknown

  It was nearly noon when they crested the final hill and headed to the seaport. The first structure they beheld was a massive stone dock, almost half a mile wide, which ran parallel to nearly the entire beachhead. There were berths for fifty full-sized merchant ships, and the harbor appeared to be extremely deep. There were only two ships in port at the moment, and there were also a few fishing boats on the sand, beached well above the high tide mark. Lian supposed that the latter weren’t out to sea because of needed repair work.

  Three wooden watchtowers rose above the dockworks, although the outer two were apparently in poor repair. The center one was well maintained, although it wasn’t currently manned. There were no obvious fortifications to be seen in Mola beyond the watchtower, and Lian supposed
that the reputation of the remaining vampires must repel raiders most of the time.

  One of the two ships in dock was a fat merchantman, of wide beam and deep draft. Sailors were busy rolling barrels that probably contained salted fish or fish oil down the gangplanks, as the dock was higher than the ship’s main deck. The other ship was damaged, and its crew was trimming a tall pine tree for repairs to the main mast. Greythorn Forest to the east of Mola was free of the ubiquitous grey thorn bushes, and good shipping timber could be found there.

  Lian had little training as a sailor, but it he thought it likely that the second ship had been in battle recently. It was much smaller than the merchantman, and was certainly sleeker and faster. It was also armed with a pair of ballistae in the forecastle and a single one in the stern.

  None of the local governments floated warships of this type, so Lian conjectured that it was either a privateer or a mercenary ship. It also seemed that they were very short on crewmen. Could be they need some hands, Lian thought to himself.

  Mola was still a major fish production point, and therefore supplied a great deal of salted fish to Fendar Port as well as other destinations to the south. Like most fishing villages, nearly all of the able-bodied citizens went out to work the boats daily, leaving behind those too young, too old, too sick, or too pregnant to handle nets. The only others that would be still in town while the fleet was out would be the blacksmith, the cooper, and the sheriff and his men.

  As they approached, the inevitable dogs trotted out to make challenge. Lian admonished Snog to ignore them and proceeded to do just that. Snog, having little experience with canines other than the occasional forest wolf, found the dogs to be frightening. The curs, sensing Snog’s fear, barked loudly at him, keeping to the side away from Lian and his gelding. Lian reined in, maneuvering Beliu behind Nightmare’s rump, and pulled his mount into a rear. Beliu obliged his rider by kicking forward with his forehooves, scaring the dogs off.