The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset)

by William Stacey

  “Little respect for their liege lord,” muttered Fin.

  “They’ve never accepted the Dains as their lords,” said Dilan.

  A small group of women stood beside the communal bakery in the town’s center, faces filled with hate. One heavyset matron spat upon the ground.

  Owen stared back at them. “Serina’s rebellion was a long time ago. You’d think they would be over it by now.”

  “I don’t think they ever will be,” Dilan said.

  They passed through the town, pretending not to see the hateful glares of its residents. Soon, they were back out in the countryside, traveling along an overgrown trail, all that remained of the road that led through the dark forest. Feldwyn Swamp—home to the marsh ticks—was deep within that forest. Owen shuddered when he thought of the giant tick in the crate.

  An old wooden bridge spanned a softly gurgling stream, its banks green and muddy. On the other side of the bridge, the old road led into the woods. Wildly overgrown, the path was just wide enough for the wagons.

  The expedition entered the woods, with Owen and the other scouts riding along in front. Squirrels chased along beside them, keeping pace. On occasion, they had to stop to clear brush so the wagons could continue, but they made good time, traveling faster than Owen would have thought. The islanders might have avoided traveling inland, but they clearly still used the path on occasion, likely for logging. The deeper the party went into the forest, though, the more overgrown it became. Around midday, they came across the remains of a crossroads, the other road almost completely reclaimed by the forest. A wooden sign covered with blackened letters and strangled by vines identified the other road as leading to the Greywynne family’s once-rich silver mine. They stopped at the crossroads long enough to give the men a chance to wolf down some dried fish, apples, and hard brown bread.

  Owen approached the weathered sign and ran his thumb over its letters. “You think there’s anything there still?”

  Dilan shook his head. “Silver mine ran dry a long time ago.”

  “How can you be sure? Mines must run deep.”

  “Do you think Idwal and his brothers would risk their lives hunting marsh ticks if there was silver to be dug out of the earth?”

  Owen stared down the overgrown trail leading to the hills and the mine. “Guess not.”

  After lunch, they remounted and resumed their travel. The trail quickly worsened, and Owen soon found he had to dismount and walk Gale. The men on foot pushed and pulled on the wagons and spent most of their time clearing away the overgrowth. By early afternoon, they were all drenched in sweat and covered in dirt. Mosquitoes assaulted them with every step, and the ground became damp and muddy, sucking at the soles of their hobnailed boots. We have to be near the edge of the swamp by now, Owen mused.

  By late afternoon, the air chilled and became moist. The pervasive reek of decay blanketed them, stinking of maggoty carcasses and sodden vegetation. Storms of mosquitoes assaulted them. The trees thinned, becoming twisted gray wardens, their skeletal arms grasping outward. A thick layer of fog settled over the wet, grasping mud, swirling about their horses’ hooves. Pools of brackish green water, their surface broken by reeds and willows, rose up around them. The road became nothing more than a bridge of higher land, sinking back into the swamp in places. Occasional hillocks, large mounds of rocky terrain, rose out of the swamp waters like islands of refuge.

  Owen pushed on, leading Gale, but at some particularly difficult, muddy spots, the strong horse had to pull him along. Above, the sky began to darken, and the shadows lengthened. They would have to stop soon, he knew. They would need to set up camp and establish their defenses before the marsh ticks came out.

  As if on cue, the distinctive, stuttering cry of one of the creatures echoed over the swamp. Owen stroked Gale, whispering calming words to the horse. The men looked about themselves nervously. Shortly after, the order to leave the road came down the line.

  A particularly large hillock rose out of the waters on their right. The column of men and wagons left the road, marching into muddy water up to their waists and then up onto the dry, rocky hillock. The hill, dotted by large boulders and stunted gray trees, was wide and high, its summit large enough to hold all the wagons and horses. Owen led Gale up the hillock’s incline to its summit and secured him with the men detailed to care for the mounts. Removing his traveling cloak, he resigned himself to the miserable task ahead. Trudging back down the hill, he once again entered the dirty marsh waters to help push and pull the wagons across.

  The next hour’s work was as miserable a task as any he had ever known. While straining against the rear of one of the wagons, he slipped and fell face-first into the cold waters, his hands sinking deep into the muddy bottom. He panicked, swallowing some of the foul waters and flailing about, but then someone grabbed his shoulders and yanked him free. His rescuer was Lord Palin, grinning with muddy water running down his chin.

  “Thank… thank you, my lord.” Owen gasped and spat out foul water.

  The young lord slapped him on the back and moved on to help shove the wagon the rest of the way onto the hillock. Owen shook himself like a wet dog and set off to help again, still wondering at the sight of a nobleman pushing a wagon. He had never seen Duke Oskaley getting his hands dirty. Of course, Oskaley had been an old man.

  Shadows grew as the sun dropped out of sight. Several more times, they heard the eerie, stuttering cry of the marsh ticks. Could they be communicating? No, they’re just bugs.

  The sergeants moved among them, sending the men to their defensive positions. Owen recovered his cloak, his longbow, and his weapons and moved to his spot on the line surrounding the hillock, halfway up its length, between Fin and Dilan. Each man understood his role that night. Keep-Captain Awde had thoroughly briefed them before leaving the fort.

  Owen set his round shield and spear against the ground and strung his longbow. The damp air was bad for the bowstrings, but they had little choice. Soon, men came by with bundles of replacement torches and fire arrows, as well as the firepots, each twice the size of a man’s clenched fist. The pots had been sealed shut with a sticky tar residue. Once thrown, they would burst upon impact, casting flammable oil around.

  Owen unrolled his bundle of arrows and examined them: each bundle contained eighty arrows. He pushed each one, point-first, into the spongy ground before him, so that he could easily grab them for use. If the torches didn’t stop the marsh ticks, they’d put flaming arrows into the damned things, aiming for the unprotected area just behind their heads. If fire and arrow still didn’t keep the creatures back, they’d use the firepots. They’d set the entire base of the hillock on fire if they had to. Men were tasked with keeping the line supplied all night. If fire, arrow, and oil failed to stop the marsh ticks, then they’d fight with spear, sword, and axe.

  And probably die.

  He set his two torches afire, as did the other men, and set them standing up into the wet soil, one right beside him, the other about twenty yards down the hill, near its base. A double ring of fire surrounded the hillock, giving it an otherworldly appearance as the fog thickened with the night. Each torch created its own glowing halo.

  “Just stay away, you damned bugs,” Owen whispered to himself, holding an unlit arrow beside his longbow.

  He started when another marsh tick cried out, sounding not that far away. Owen shuffled in place, his feet wet and freezing. One of the men, Bokke, younger than Owen and half his size, came by with food. Bokke squished as he walked, his face gray and mud streaked. Owen waved at the young man, glad that he wasn’t the only one who was miserable. Bokke handed him some cold jerky and black bread before moving farther on down the line.

  Owen chewed and swallowed, surprised at how hungry he was. His meal done, Owen pulled the edges of his cloak in tighter around his neck.

  Then it began to rain.

  Chapter 15

  Modwyn

  The rain dripped down Modwyn’s head, soaking his hair to his
scalp. He stood near one of the large bonfires atop the hillock. His sodden clothing stuck to him, the slimy feeling making him even more miserable. Somewhere close by, a marsh tick called out, its staccato cry echoing in the night. He shivered despite the heat from the fire. He didn’t like being out there where he had to risk his own life. The horses, corralled together, whinnied in fear, and the soldiers detailed to watch them moved about, trying to calm them.

  Idwal stepped up next to Modwyn, hawked, and spat into the fire, his spittle sizzling on the coals. “There’s no need to be scared,” he said, his voice too soft for any other to hear. “They might come close, come see what all the fuss is about, but this much fire?” He shook his head, water dripping off his nose. “No. They’re not going to cause any ruckus this night.”

  Modwyn glanced about himself. “They will to protect a female. Did you see a good spot to set it?”

  Idwal snuffed, wiped his nose with his forearm, and then motioned down the hill with his chin. “That way. There’s a large fallen tree near the base of the hill, waterlogged, too heavy to move. But how will we bring her—”

  “I have something that should draw one closer. In Port Ollechta, I found a man, a finder of rare alchemical substances. It was hideously expensive, but if it works, it will be well worth the price.” Modwyn patted his chest, where a small glass vial sat inside a pocket sewn within his tunic.

  Idwal grunted. “You sure this lot is up to the task? She’ll call out to the males. It’ll be worse than a squid frenzy.”

  “We have to take that chance,” whispered Modwyn. “Besides, Awde is supposed to be a great warrior. I’m sure he’ll keep us safe. It’s the least they can do after all the horror his kind have caused.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “It’s worth the chance. Worth any chance.”

  “Unless the old man was senile, his mind gone.”

  “No,” said Modwyn softly. “I have to believe. For so long now, hate is all I’ve had. Now… now I have hope again.”

  “Hope,” muttered Idwal. “It’s been so long since we’ve had such a wondrous thing.”

  Modwyn turned and stared down the hill at the rings of torchlight glowing in the fog. “Be ready with your gear. We’ll do it soon, while they’re still busy worrying about their defenses for the night.”

  “What if we’re seen?”

  “I have a plan for that. Think of her.”

  “Aye,” whispered Idwal, nodding.

  Another marsh tick cried out, and Modwyn shivered once again.

  #

  Modwyn watched from a distance as Palin and Awde discussed the defensive preparations. A small group of older warriors, sergeants, stood nearby. The boy remained silent while Awde—who was clearly truly in charge—gave pointed instructions to the sergeants. So far, despite the cries, no one had seen a single insect, but they had all heard them. If Idwal was right—and Modwyn had no cause to doubt him—the ring of fire would keep them at bay that night.

  But Modwyn needed at least one to come close.

  He had been watching Palin and Awde for some time now, waiting to speak to Palin alone. He didn’t want Awde interfering. Unfortunately, the sad little boy wouldn’t leave the warrior’s side. Instead, he had been like a shadow to the older man, no doubt annoying him with his constant hero-worship. And such as that, he mused, is the best the Dains have left.

  When one of the soldiers brought Palin a bowl of stew and some hard bread, Modwyn realized he might finally have his chance. Awde said something to him, no doubt telling him to sit down and eat his food like a good little boy, and then he and the sergeants moved farther on to continue their discussion. Palin was finally left to himself, sitting on a rock and eating his dinner. Now or never. Modwyn squared his shoulders and approached the boy.

  Palin looked up and smiled. “Doctor, how are you this evening? This isn’t like King’s Hold, I imagine.”

  Modwyn flashed his teeth back at him. “Indeed not, my lord, but much more adventurous.”

  “Yes, yes it is.” The boy just sat there, waiting. “Was there… something?”

  “My lord, Master Idwal is worried about the marsh ticks. He’s not certain there are enough torches to keep the insects at a distance. He’d like your approval to inspect the outer ring of fire, make sure it’s adequate to the task.”

  The smile disappeared. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Modwyn bobbed his head. “Yes, of course, my lord, of course. Your concern for your subjects is commendable, but I assure you, Master Idwal would be quite safe. No one knows these creatures better than he does. Moreover, our keep-captain is a famous warrior, but Master Idwal is beside himself with fear for you, my lord.”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Me? Why?”

  “It seems you’ve already made quite an impression on him, my lord. He’s mentioned several times how… different you are from other northerners, especially Wendel Dert.”

  “Well, that’s… that’s good, but—”

  “I don’t like to speak ill of others, my lord, but it doesn’t look like your reeve is much loved by these people. Some of the stories Idwal has told me…”

  “Doctor, I appreciate your concern, but I’m sure Master Dert has performed his duties with respect for all.”

  Modwyn raised his palms. “Oh, of course, my lord, I didn’t mean to even imply any improprieties, just to repeat Idwal’s—no doubt baseless—fears. You know how simple people can be. At any rate, while I don’t agree with Master Idwal about Keep-Captain Awde’s defenses, prudence dictates Master Idwal should quickly look over the outer ring. It would only take a moment and no doubt set his mind at ease.”

  “Have you broached this with Keep-Captain Awde?”

  Modwyn forced a look of surprise upon his features. “Oh, oh… I see, my lord. It’s just that you’re the new… That is… of course I should ask the keep-captain. So… it’s Keep-Captain Awde then, for all important decisions?”

  “Well… we’ve both already inspected the line. Neither of us saw a problem.”

  Modwyn bobbed his head. “I don’t imagine there is a problem, my lord. It would be the work of only moments to let Master Idwal see for himself. At the same time, I guess I could accompany him and speak to the men, inquire as to their physical well-being. But if you can’t—I mean, if you’d like, I can ask the keep-captain.”

  Indecision flashed through Palin’s eyes. “You mean you haven’t checked on the men yet?”

  “No, my lord. I apologize. I’ve been so busy with other matters. I… could do so now—accompany Master Idwal and kill two squirrels with one arrow.”

  The boy nodded, put another spoonful of stew in his mouth, and chewed while he spoke. “Yes, Doctor, please go see to the men. Take Master Idwal with you, show him everything is fine. If there’s a problem, come and see me. Do you understand?”

  Modwyn found it hard not to grin, but he managed.

  “Perfectly, my lord.”

  Chapter 16

  Owen

  Owen peered out into the darkness down the slope of the hillock, seeing nothing but the flickering ring of torches. The night had grown dark, but the rain was only a drizzle, not a downpour. If their torches went out…

  He heard footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder to see two figures approaching, Modwyn and Idwal. The physician slipped, fell on his ass, and slid a bit before Idwal helped him back up.

  Those two had seemed to be in each other’s company a great deal since leaving Stron’s Watch. In the short span of time since Modwyn had entered the Dains’ service, Owen hadn’t ever seen the young doctor befriending anyone.

  Stopping just beside Owen, Modwyn and Idwal stared down the hill. Idwal was carrying a sack over his shoulder, its metal contents clanking when he shifted it.

  “Are you well, man?” Modwyn asked, not even looking at Owen. “Does anything ail you?”

  “No, sir,” said Owen. “Should you be—”

  Modwyn started
as a tick cried out once more. Then, he stared at Owen, tightness in his eyes. “Have you seen anything… any of the creatures?”

  Owen shook his head. “No, but we’ve been hearing them.”

  Idwal stepped past Owen, squinting at something farther down the hill. He turned and met the physician’s eye then nodded. Modwyn also moved past Owen and peered down the hill. “I don’t see it,” he said softly.

  “No, I told you. I haven’t seen anything,” said Owen.

  “It’s there,” said Idwal, “just past the torch.”

  Owen glanced at Dilan, standing several feet away. Dilan shook his head. Just at that moment, someone yelled out from the other side of the hill that he saw something moving. They all turned and stared back up the hill. A moment later, they heard the release of a bowstring, followed by the whistling of an arrow and a trail of fire in the dark night as the flaming missile rose up and then fell from sight. A cheer rose from the men on the other side of the hill. Someone had just seen their first marsh tick and, by the sounds of it, had killed it.

  The hunter leaned in closer to the doctor and grabbed his arm. “Now. We need to do it now.”

  Modwyn nodded then stared at Owen. “Soldier, we need to check something down below. Master Idwal is concerned the insects may be moving about, trying to get around us, and we need to go look. You will stand guard here and yell out if you see anything.”

  Owen stared at the two men in disbelief. “Doctor, that’s a very bad idea. I’ll have to check with—”

  Modwyn spun on him. “You’ll do as you’re told, soldier, or I’ll see you punished. His lordship himself has sent me to make sure. We’ll only be a moment.”

  On the other side of the hill, more men cried out in warning. Moments later, Owen heard the release of more arrows. Fire flashed through the night, like falling stars. Another cheer rose.