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

by William Stacey

  “Yes, my lady.” Dilan raised his voice to address all the men. “Owen, stay here with the sword. Keep the ghouls from getting inside.”

  Owen nodded.

  “You lot”—Dilan pointed at a small knot of men—“help him barricade that portcullis. Do it now!”

  The men rushed to obey. As they did, one of the men who had remained on the walls despite the smoke called down to them. “They’re coming again, this time with ladders.”

  Dilan appraised the situation. “Right, Lady Danika, I need you and Father Cotlas to stay back—the rest of you, up on the walls.”

  “The smoke,” one of the men complained.

  “The ghouls will climb the ladders. If we let them have the walls, we’re as good as dead. Get your asses up there. A little smoke won’t kill you.” Dilan sheathed his sword, grabbed the closest soldier, and propelled him toward the stairs leading up to the walls. “Hurry, damn you.” He then turned to Dert. “The supplies that didn’t go north, the extra oil and firepots for the marsh ticks, where are they?”

  Dert’s face demonstrated his confusion. “What? Why?”

  “Because while ghouls don’t die, they can still burn.”

  Understanding finally registered on the other man’s face. “Down below, in a storeroom next to the gaol, but there aren’t that many left, maybe a dozen.”

  “They’ll do,” Dilan said. He pointed at two of the men. “You come with me.” He stopped and stared at Owen. “Why aren’t you barricading the gate?”

  Owen opened his mouth but then ran to follow orders.

  #

  When the attack began again, it was double-pronged, coming at the walls and the gatehouse. Once again, the undead soldiers threw themselves in frenzy against the partially destroyed bars of the portcullis and the barricade that Owen and the others had piled before it. When the attack came, Owen had been helping to push a wagon they were intending to prop up against the barricade. As the first walking dead man pushed through the barricade, Owen wasn’t close enough to stop it. Despite their efforts, the barricade hadn’t even slowed it down. In moments, the ghoul was shambling toward the closest soldiers, another of the monsters coming through the bars just behind it.

  “Wait,” Owen yelled to the soldiers, who ignored him and rushed at the ghouls.

  They struck down at the creature with sword blows that would have killed a living man, but the walking corpse ignored the wounds, instead grabbing the closest of the men and pulling him down. The second soldier stared in horror, frozen, as the next ghoul through the barricade reached him. He went down as well. Then, more undead warriors pushed through, piling atop him.

  Owen got there just as the ghouls ripped the soldier’s ring-mail coat apart with their bare hands, the rings popping and flying through the air. Then, they ripped out his intestines. Sight-Bringer thrumming in his ears, Owen attacked from the back stance, swinging the longsword up over his head to cut down, splitting a ghoul’s head in two. As another ghoul reached out for him, he dodged backward, taking off the ghoul’s outstretched hands with a reverse cut. The ghoul stared at its severed wrists, which smoked, then fell forward atop the first, unmoving.

  More ghouls climbed past the barricade, and Owen launched himself into them, dispatching one with a rising diagonal cut that took its head off, then killing the next with the reverse swing. The remaining ghouls fell back, and the surviving soldiers rushed forward to restack the barricade.

  Exhausted, Owen turned and stared toward the east. Is that a red glow on the horizon or just a trick of the moonlight?

  Chapter 48

  Dilan

  Dilan climbed the stairs to the fort’s walls. The smoke from the burning wagon still obscured visibility and brought tears to his eyes, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been at first. He held a lit torch in one hand and used his bandaged arm to hold one of the firepots against his chest. The two men behind him also held armloads of firepots. Dilan paused as a spasm of pain lanced down his back. Come on, man, you once fought for an entire day with a broken foot. You can do this—you have to do this! Leaning over the top of the wall, Dilan assessed the situation. The islanders had brought at least six wooden ladders forward and set them against the base of the wall. Small groups of ghouls were already atop the walls, attacking the soldiers. If they didn’t do something quickly, in minutes, more would climb up and overrun them. Owen wouldn’t be able to take them all on, even with Sight-Bringer. The ghouls would surround and overwhelm him.

  Using the burning wagon to drive the defenders from the walls had been a good trick, but it was quickly becoming less effective. If they could just deal with the ghouls, they could use the greater range of their longbows to pick off the islanders. Even then, the approach to the fort was littered with dead men. All of Port Eaton seemed to have risen in arms against them. From that height, Dilan could see at least three score more ghouls milling about the ladders, waiting for a chance to climb up. If they didn’t take back the walls right then and destroy those ladders, they were going to die that night.

  To his left, not ten paces away, a Wolfrey soldier flailed away with his sword, desperately trying to keep back three ghouls, their backs to Dilan. He dropped the torch onto the wall’s landing and threw the firepot he had been holding. It hit the stones beneath the closest ghoul, shattering and throwing oil. Dilan picked up the torch again and sent it tumbling through the air. The moment it hit, the oil ignited in a blast, setting two of the ghouls aflame. Dilan took another firepot from the men behind him and tossed it at the final ghoul, hitting it square in the back, enveloping it in flames. The burning ghoul, ignoring the flames, rushed at the soldier and wrapped its arms around him. Together, they fell, burning, to the courtyard below. The other two ghouls, engulfed in flames, stumbled about blindly atop the wall. Dilan approached them warily before kicking one into the other. Both went tumbling over the wall. Not one of them made a sound.

  More ghouls were climbing up the ladder, and Dilan, taking another firepot, threw it in the face of the closest monster. As the ghoul climbed onto the wall, the nearby flames ignited the oil, setting it and the upper half of the ladder on fire. The burning ghoul fell from the wall as well. The fire forced Dilan and the two others away, but the ladder burned and, with it, several of the ghouls that had been climbing.

  When the flames receded, Dilan and the two guards moved farther down the wall, setting other ladders afire and burning three more groups of ghouls that had reached the battlements.

  Wiping dirt and smoke from his eyes, Dilan looked to the east and saw a red glow along the horizon. How long until sunrise?

  Will they even stop at sunrise?

  #

  Later, Dilan found Lieutenant Sayer atop one of the battlements, sitting propped up against the wall, the shaft of an arrow jutting from his chest. Kneeling next to him, Dilan reached out and felt a faint pulse in the man’s throat. Sayer opened his eyes at the touch and moaned. Only one guardsman remained with Dilan, the other having died after helping Dilan clear the last of the ghouls.

  How many of us are still alive? Dilan pointed with his chin farther down the wall and ordered the guard, “Check the others. Tell the men that dawn is almost here.”

  The man looked from Sayer to Dilan, nodded, and moved away. Examining Sayer’s wound, Dilan saw right away it was a mortal wound. In truth, he was amazed Sayer was still alive.

  Sayer tried to speak, and Dilan put his ear near the man’s mouth. “Still… stand?”

  Dilan squeezed his hand. “We’re not dead yet.”

  Sayer closed his eyes and grimaced, coughing up a bubble of spit and blood.

  “Hang on, Lieutenant. We’re all going to survive this night—you, too.”

  Sayer grimaced and shook his head. “Liar.”

  Dilan sat back against the battlements next to Sayer, holding his hand and waiting. The fighting had almost stopped, meaning the islanders either had run out of ladders or hadn’t realized how close the fight had been. Arrows continued to f
ly only intermittently against the fort’s defenders. Sayer’s breathing became more irregular, the pauses lasting longer.

  “You know,” Dilan said softly, almost in a whisper. “I need to tell you something I haven’t told anybody else. That night at the inn, when we first met, you weren’t wrong about me. Prophet’s Bridge, the battle… It wasn’t what everyone believes it was. We weren’t being brave. We simply couldn’t get away. My brother Artur and I were the last, the others all dead. Something hit me in the head, a rock maybe. I stumbled and fell off the side of the bridge, over the gorge and the river below. Artur caught me—just barely—but the rebels were still coming. I told him to let me go, let me fall, and save his own life. He… he wouldn’t, so one of the bastards ran a spear through the back of his neck—that’s the only reason he let me go. I hit the rapids below, certain I’d drown, but I didn’t.” He snorted and smiled, though he really felt like crying. “I washed ashore farther up the river, sodden and clinging to life, but alive. That’s when my courage failed, and I ran for my life. For two days, I evaded their hunters, finally making my way back to our lines.”

  The wind picked up, gusting across the battlements, chasing away the stench of burned wood and charred flesh, replacing it for a few moments with the fresh smell of the sea.

  “No one believed I had fallen into the water. They were all certain I had abandoned the others, but no one wanted to tarnish the image of the Rams. The tale of how a few had died holding back so many was already becoming a legend. Instead, they just… released me. So you see, you were right that day we met at the inn. I did run.”

  Sayer said nothing, making Dilan wonder if he was already gone, but then, Sayer’s bloody lips parted, and his eyes focused on Dilan. “Don’t… run… this time.”

  Then he died.

  Chapter 49

  Modwyn

  Modwyn fumed. He stood on the twisting trail that led to the fort, far out of longbow range. Several of the more influential islanders, their leaders, stood beside him. They all watched the fort, highlighted against the early-morning sky. He paced in short steps, his posture stiff, his jaw clenched. He needed to take that fort soon. If she arrives before then…

  “We need to build more ladders,” said Galvin, the large bearded man the others deferred to. The man stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the fort. Unlike the others, Galvin wore a sword and was protected by a worn but still-functional leather coat. He, at least, looked like a warrior. The others, though, were clearly farmers and fishermen, armed with whatever tool they could lay hands on that would double as a weapon, axes mostly.

  “So? Go get them already,” Modwyn snapped.

  Galvin shook his head. “I said build more ladders. Those they burned were what were already in town, from the larger barns. We need to make more and then hit them again.”

  “They’ll burn them again,” Modwyn said.

  “How much oil can they have in there?” Galvin asked. “If we pull the ghouls back, leave men with bows to keep them locked up in there, we can spend a day just building ladders, enough to overwhelm them. We’ve already sent riders to the other villages. More men will come—a lot more men.”

  Modwyn shook his head. “We’d have had them already if not for that damned sword. She was right to be concerned about it. Who would have thought that some idiot guardsman would bring it all the way across the island and use it to defend that stupid little fort?”

  “They can’t go anywhere. We’ll finish them tomorrow,” Galvin said.

  Modwyn felt his frustration grow. He knew nothing of siege warfare. The glow of the sun was rising over the hills to the east, and he turned toward it. She would be angry at the delay… angry with him—again.

  “No,” Modwyn said. “We can’t wait. We need to attack once more.”

  “Man,” said Galvin, irritation in his voice. “We have no ladders. We can’t—”

  Modwyn spun on him, moving so quickly that the other man had no chance to react. With one hand, he lifted the large islander into the air by the throat, his booted feet dangling, kicking helplessly while Modwyn glared at him. “Don’t you see? I can’t fail her. I can feel her. She’s coming, getting closer. We must take that fort!”

  Galvin’s ruddy face turned red as Modwyn choked him with one hand. His eyes were wide, beseeching.

  Then, Modwyn realized he had already run out of time. She is here. He dropped Galvin to the ground, forgotten.

  Serina stood, not a dozen paces away, watching him with her new childe standing next to her, his all-red eyes filled with malice. She was dressed as before, naked but for the torn, ancient ring-mail coat.

  Yet still she looks the queen she is.

  Modwyn dropped to his knees, and a moment later, the others did the same. The morning was cold, and a chill wind carried the promise of fall, but it wasn’t the cold that caused him to shiver so violently.

  I’ve failed her again.

  She approached, but he kept his eyes on the ground, seeing only her bare feet before him, crusted in dried blood and dirt.

  “The sword?” she asked, simply, quietly.

  “Still… still in the fort, my queen… with them,” Modwyn said, the words burning his throat.

  She was silent for several long, heavy moments. “And the Dain girl?”

  “In… in the fort also, my queen.”

  The wind gusted again, bringing with it the acrid stench of smoke. Modwyn coughed, as did the islanders. Serina and her childe didn’t. “Well, I guess that means I’ll need a different place to sleep—before the sun rises,” she said. “Someplace large, secure.”

  “Yes, yes, my queen,” answered Modwyn. “The alehouse, I think.”

  He risked a glance at her and saw that she was staring at the fort, her eyes tight. “I will need the ghouls. Leave the townsfolk to watch the fort.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “It… it would be our honor… for our dead to lie with you as well, my queen, as they did in the old days,” stammered Galvin, stepping closer, wringing his hands before him.

  Modwyn glared at the man. How dare he address her directly?

  But instead of admonishing him for speaking out of turn, Serina approached him and ran her fingers through his hair, as if he were some kind of dog. The man actually whimpered.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t blame you for this failure,” she said as her gaze fell upon Modwyn.

  Modwyn shivered. “I’m… I’m sorry, my queen, but we can still take them. One more assault, and they’ll break.”

  She watched the fort for long moments, staring at it silently. The only sound was the crashing of the waves, the howling of the wind.

  “No,” she finally said. “There have been enough of my people killed this night. I will need them all for what is to come.”

  “Yes, my queen,” Modwyn said.

  She turned away, and Modwyn watched her back as she approached her childe and ran her fingers over his cheeks and down the scar on his neck.

  “You will go forward, kill whoever holds Sight-Bringer, and then bring it to me,” she said. “If you would sleep with me this day, you must pay for your boarding with the sword. Do you understand?”

  Brice Awde smiled, exposing his fangs.

  Chapter 50

  Brice

  As he sprinted toward the wall of the fort, Brice saw that the sun had yet to rise, but its glow was clearly visible just below the tree line. In less than half an hour, it would break the horizon. He knew he needed to take the sword back and bring it to the queen before that happened, or he would die. He didn’t understand how he knew that, but he was certain of it just the same.

  A great deal had changed since the night before, when the queen had forced him to drink her blood. The world seemed completely different, as if he were seeing it as it truly was for the first time. The people moved sluggishly, as if they were all underwater. His sight, his sense of smell, and his strength and speed—all were vastly more powerful. He had become akin to a god.


  But with the gifts had come needs as well. The first was the mandate to obey Serina, to please her and make her proud. That urge filled the core of his being. She was with him always, a part of him. He felt her, watching over him, within him, confident he would make her happy—and he would! She had become his entire world. All that had come before her was unimportant, like a distant memory that had quickly faded and would soon disappear entirely. He remembered the others, especially Danika, but she seemed so… far away now, as if his love for her had never been more than an odd infatuation.

  His most powerful urge, however, the one that drove him nearly mad, was his hunger, his ravenous thirst for blood. Blood had become like air to him. He could smell it now, flowing through the veins of others. His sense of belonging with the rest of humanity was gone. People were only prey, nothing more. The warrior called Brice Awde was only a memory. After a day or two at most, even that memory would be nothing more than a smoky dream, he was certain. All that would remain would be Serina’s new childe, the first of her battle captains—and he would make her proud. He would drown the world in blood for her.

  But first, the sword.

  He picked up speed, sprinting full out toward the far end of the wall, near the cliff face. He ran so quickly that the air around him blurred. He jumped halfway up the fort’s wall in a single bound. His fingernails, stronger than steel, ripped into the stone, giving him purchase. In seconds, he was over its side and onto the battlements.

  One of the guardsmen stood before him, a look of disbelief on his face, his hands still gripping his longbow and arrow. Before the man could move, Brice reached out and gripped his face with one hand, driving his fingernails deep into his eye sockets, and then—with one quick jerk—ripped most of his face free. The man, making mewling, animallike noises, spun about, thrashing as he fell. Brice had already moved on, leaping down into the courtyard.