“A brave attempt,” Taios said. He turned to Owen. “Describe her.”
“Young and beautiful, with long braided blond hair, bloodred eyes. Tattoos over her face, like a mask.”
“Everybody knows that,” said Fioni. “Minstrels have been describing her all my life, and I, sure as Wodor’s hairy balls, have never seen her.”
“There’s more,” Owen said, now looking down at his hands. “Whenever I was near her, I… I was terrified, more frightened than I’ve ever been, more than I thought possible. All I wanted to do—all I could think of doing—was run away, to get as far from her as possible.”
Taios closed his eyes and rubbed his nose. “It’s her,” he said softly, almost a whisper. “She’s back.”
Fioni shook her head. “Why? Just because a mainlander was frightened?”
“It’s the Dread, girl,” Taios said. “Your great-grandfather Serl saw her once after she had… changed. He said the same thing, spoke of this… aura of fear that surrounds her.”
Fioni stared at her father, her mouth open. “When did Serl meet her?”
Taios exhaled pipe smoke from his nostrils. “Right after Echo Island, after she slaughtered the kingdom’s holy men. She sent for all the clan yarls, ordered them to present themselves to her… in the Great Crypt. And each of them went, including Serl.”
Taios pointed the stem of his pipe at Owen. “My grandfather was the bravest man I’ve ever known, a legend among our people. But he told my father that he nearly shat his breeches when he saw her. Serina was terror given life.”
Danika thought again of Brice, a man who was afraid of nothing and no one. What Serina had done to him was unforgivable. Tears welled up in her eyes.
Taios rose and moved to a small table behind him, next to one of the bookshelves. A Hishtari wine bottle sat atop the table, and taking it, he poured thick red wine into a brass goblet. Turning, he handed it to Danika. She took it in both hands and sipped. The strong wine burned her throat but set a fire in her belly. She sipped again, thankful for the opportunity to compose herself.
“Do you believe in destiny, Danika?” Taios asked.
“Why?”
“Did you know that half a century ago, the Greywynnes were the richest family in the kingdom, that their wealth exceeded that of any other noble family’s, including yours—including your king’s?”
Danika wiped her eyes and watched him, considering him. “Their silver mine was famous, but—”
“No, no.” He waved his pipe at her, trailing smoke. “Everybody knows of the silver mine, but the mine had already run dry by then. I’m talking about something else.”
“The blood gems?” Fioni asked.
Danika shook her head. “Serina’s ‘blood gems’ were only a legend. There is no such thing as magical red gems.”
Still seated, Taios turned and reached behind him to grip the handle of the sword hanging from the armor frame. Slowly, he drew the blade from its sheath. Owen stiffened in alarm, beginning to rise, but Danika placed her hand on his forearm. The sword, she saw in a moment, was ancient but in perfect condition. Its blade was scored with the distinctive wave pattern formed by mixing and twisting rods of steel and iron and then folding the white-hot metal again and again, melding the parts together and creating a sword that was both strong enough to hold an edge yet flexible enough to bend upon impact without breaking. They didn’t make swords that way anymore, at least not in the kingdom. Now, they simply and efficiently welded strips of steel to the iron core, permitting the mass production of castle-forged swords that were perfectly functional yet lacking in the artistic craftsmanship of the old ways. This weapon was priceless, fit for a king.
Taios lay the sword upon the table, its elaborate hilt with the gem facing Danika and Owen. “Wave’s Kiss,” he said simply. “It belonged to my grandfather, Serl Raven-Eye. It went to my father after Serl was murdered by the Hishtari. Now it is mine. Someday, it will belong to my daughter—unless she finally decides to marry and give me grandchildren—and then it will go to her husband.”
“It’ll belong to me,” Fioni said. “Children are loud and unpleasant—so are husbands.”
“I don’t understand,” Danika said.
Taios slid the sword closer to her. “Touch the gem in the hilt.”
She stared now at the bright-red stone fixed to the pommel of the sword. “That can’t be a—”
“Touch it,” Taios repeated.
She did, leaning forward and letting her fingertips trail over the gem the size of her thumb. Instantly, she drew her hand back. The gem had been warm to the touch, and throbbing, as if alive. It gave a different sensation from the heady rush that came from touching Sight-Bringer; yet at the same time, there was no mistaking the occult power resonating within it.
She stared at her fingertips. “This is a…a blood gem, a real one?”
Taios inclined his head. Fioni smiled.
“Where did it come from?” Danika asked.
Taios considered Danika for some moments. “Serina,” he finally said. “My grandfather took it from Serina.”
“What does it do?” Danika asked.
“As near as I can tell,” said Fioni, “it sits in a sword and looks nice.”
Taios frowned at her. “I don’t know where Serina got them, but she had a small case filled with them.”
“I don’t understand…” Danika’s voice trailed off.
Taios leaned forward, resting his large forearms on the table. “The Greywynnes were like royalty among the Fenyir Islands—well, as close to royalty as we have—but a streak of madness ran through their bloodline, as well as an interest in…foul practices.”
“Necromancy,” Danika said. “The entire kingdom knows she was a dark sorcerer.”
“There are dozens of clans among these islands,” continued Taios. “We are many, but for generations, we’ve fought amongst ourselves, warring and feuding and raiding one another—often more than we raid you and the Hishtari. The Greywynnes, though, they’ve always been different. Serina’s father, Tarlock Greywynne, wanted more for our people. Because Greywynne Island was so close to your kingdom, Tarlock studied your ways, imitated your nobility. Even going so far as to permit your priests to establish a monastery on Echo Island—an insult to our own true gods. But it was his ambition that was his doom.”
“The Greywynnes were traitors,” said Danika.
Taios shook his head. “Of course they weren’t—at least not until your king moved against Tarlock Greywynne and his sons. Tarlock had been consolidating his authority over all the Fenyir Islands—all the clans—and he was succeeding. For the first time in our history, we were coming together as one. Tarlock wanted sovereignty for our people. The Fenyir Island chain was to be its own kingdom, and he would be our first king. He was willing to pay for that sovereignty with the blood gems, a fortune in blood gems.”
“That… that wasn’t what happened,” said Danika, her face warming. “Tarlock and his sons were plotting to kill the king, to seize power over all of Conarck.”
Taios snorted. “Tarlock Greywynne had no real interest in your kingdom. He never did. He was only ever interested in copying your ways and creating a dynasty for his family. Even his acceptance of the monastery on Echo Island was only a subterfuge to give him the veneer of respectability among your nobles. Tarlock Greywynne and his sons and daughter only ever worshipped our own gods.”
“I’ve never heard any of this,” Danika said.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Taios bitterly. “Your king had no intention of allowing us to create our own kingdom. It would have meant war with the Hishtari. For hundreds of years now, the kingdom and the empire have argued over who owns these islands, with each nation claiming ownership of those islands closest to their shores. Tarlock was a fool for not seeing this. Your king sent word that he would accept the payment. He invited Tarlock and his sons to King’s Hold under the pretext of hammering out the final terms of the bargain. But, instead, he had t
hem arrested and thrown in a cell and then tortured until they admitted to their ‘plot to murder the king and seize the kingdom’—all except Tarlock, who was far too stubborn to break. Do you know how they died?”
“I know,” said Danika softly.
“As does every single Fenyir,” said Taios, his face turning crimson with anger. “They were hung by their ankles, naked and spread-eagled, in front of a crowd in Patriot’s Square and then slowly cut in half with a saw, all to the cheers of your bloodthirsty people.”
“Father,” said Fioni, an edge of concern in her voice. “The Lady Danika didn’t—”
Taios sat back and wiped a hand over his face. “Aye, it’s nothing to do with you. Those were… disturbing times.
“After murdering Tarlock and his sons, the king sent soldiers to Greywynne Island to subdue the Islanders and seize the Greywynne holdings as well as their fortress. His plan seemed sound enough. With Tarlock and his sons dead, the other clans would splinter once again, as we always have. But the king had made a mistake, one that almost cost him his kingdom: he thought Serina to be nothing more than some woman, the last of her line.”
“This much I know already,” said Danika.
“You know what she did to the monks on Echo Island?”
“The entire world knows what she did to those men,” Danika said. “As horrific as the execution of Tarlock and his sons was, at least their souls weren’t damned for eternity.”
Taios sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. “Well, that part of the story is true enough. Serina ritually slaughtered those men, sacrificed them to the only one of our gods whose name we won’t speak.”
Shadows crept across the room. Danika noticed that the sun was setting. Serina would be waking now, she realized.
Taios now wore a look of profound sadness on his features. “My older brother, Denyr, was there that night, at the monastery. He saw what happened, saw… everything.”
Fioni stared at her father, confusion on her features.
“How is that possible?” Danika asked.
“When the monastery was established, Tarlock ordered each clan to send a son to train amongst the monks, to learn kingdom ways—even if they never accepted your god. That night, Serina slaughtered not only the kingdom monks, but our sons as well. I think, maybe, she was trying to hide who she served, fearing it might turn some against her. Later, she claimed the monks murdered them as she arrived at the monastery, but Denyr hid in the privy when the attack started. He heard everything. The next day, he escaped, covered in shit and wild eyed, bringing word to my grandfather of what had truly transpired. He named the god Serina served.”
“Father,” said Fioni, concern in her voice. “Don’t—”
“Serina sacrificed those monks—and all the Fenyir sons—to Wodor’s brother, Ator, the one we call the Dark Shark, the father of all lies.”
“Father.” Fioni inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, her face pale.
He spun on her, glaring at her, his face stone. “This time, daughter, this one time. It’s important we all tell the truth now. We’ll sacrifice a sheep to Wodor tomorrow, to beg his forgiveness, but our guests need to understand.”
Shaking her head, she stood up and poured herself a large glass of wine, and then drank it in one long swallow, her back to her father.
Taios continued. “At first, most of the clans didn’t understand what had happened, what Serina had become. There were whispers, though: that she slept beneath corpses, that she drank human blood. But she also called the clans to her and went to war, winning victories—and we Fenyir love victories. The first was against those soldiers sent to Greywynne Island to arrest her. Not a single man among them escaped. When her army arrived in your kingdom, carried by our longships, your king sent another force against her, one which should have crushed her small army. But she had a new weapon in her ranks—walking dead men, ghouls. The king’s army fled in terror. Those that couldn’t, died and then rose again as new ghouls. With every victory, her army grew. And then she began to turn others—always the best, bravest warriors—making them into blood fiends like her—her captains. These blood-fiend captains were impossibly fast and strong; none could stand against them. Soon, she didn’t even bother hiding what she had become—by then she was too powerful. Her captains slaughtered entire towns, drinking the blood of every man, woman, and child.” Taios sighed, shaking his head. “The stories we heard.”
The hair on Danika’s forearms rose, and her skin prickled. “We’ve all heard the tales. That’s why the king lent Sight-Bringer to Stron. That’s why Stron pursued Serina all the way back to her fortress on Greywynne Island. She had to be finished.”
“Aye, Stron. I admired your uncle. He needed to fight Serina, but your family didn’t need to stay on that island as its new rulers. You and yours have no place there.”
Heat flushed through Danika’s face, but a thought occurred to her. How would I feel if one day these people arrived in the north to rule over us? No self-respecting northerner would ever accept them. Why do we think it’s so different for them?
“No disrespect, but I know all this already,” she said. “It’s a different perspective, but it’s the same dark tale.”
“Here’s what you don’t know, then. When Stron lay siege to Serina’s ancestral fortress, my grandfather Serl, with his prized ship Iron Beard and my father’s longship, lay in wait off the coast of Greywynne Island.”
“Why?”
“Yes, why?” said Fioni, staring at her father. “I’ve never heard any of this before.”
“Your uncle, Stron, ordered Serl to blockade her fortress, to cut off any attempt at escape.”
“He served Stron?” Danika asked.
“After my brother, Denyr, described the slaughter on Echo Island, Serl turned against Serina, calling her an abomination. I like to believe I’d have done the same.”
“How is it possible I didn’t know this?” asked Fioni.
“It wasn’t our clan’s finest moment,” said Taios, “choosing to ally with mainlanders against the Greywynnes. The crews of the ships were sworn to secrecy, lest the other clans turn against us.”
“I didn’t know that, either,” said Danika. “I’ve read my uncle’s war journal, and there’s no mention of Fenyir clansmen serving Stron.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Taios. “Serl wouldn’t have wanted such an arrangement to be known. Most of the clans stayed loyal to Serina—even after they realized she had become a blood fiend. If you think we Fenyir don’t like you kingdom types, you should see our own blood feuds—they last generations.
“Serl knew about Serina’s secret dock, so he knew where to position his ships. I was just a thirteen-year-old whelp, but I sailed with my father aboard his longship. So you see, Danika, of everyone in this room, only I fought for your uncle during Serina’s Rebellion. Life is strange, no?”
“So what happened?” Fioni asked.
“The night Stron finally broke through the fortress walls, a wild storm raged over the fortress, like nothing I had ever seen before. The storm with its multicolored forks of lightning lingered for hours, unmoving, centered over her fortress.”
“That’s not possible,” Fioni said. “No storm stands still.”
“You were there, were you, girl? No? Then don’t tell me what was possible.”
“It’s true,” said Danika. “The war journal describes it. The men in the army were terrified, afraid Serina’s gods had come to strike them all down. They all thought it unnatural.”
“And they were right,” said Taios. “For hours, the storm blew. Chain lightning hammered the cliffs, red and blue and even green.” Taios’s eyes took on a fierce intensity. “Off the coast, the winds grew. The waves threatened to swamp us. And when it finally blew out, in the early hours just before the dawn, a single vessel, a double-masted kraken, fled the island—coming straight from Serina’s secret dock.”
Taios paused, closing his eyes and rubbing the
bridge between them with index finger and thumb, as if his head pained him.
“What happened, Father?”
“Auslaug Oar-Arm happened,” he said in a whisper. “The Butcher of Tordlin Bay was aboard the kraken.”
Chapter 7
Modwyn
As night fell, Modwyn and Galvin, the heavyset bearded man who now led the Greywynne Islanders, stood before the corpse-pile in the common room of Port Eaton’s alehouse, its roof newly repaired. Modwyn trembled, unable to stop himself. She’d be angry with him, he knew, but it wasn’t his fault. What could he have done against an entire longship filled with warriors when all he had were ignorant fishermen?
The corpses, piled in a mound that reached his shoulders, shifted and moved, as if they were coming to life. A man’s blood-soaked hand shot out from among the corpses and began pushing them away. Serina’s newest childe pulled himself free of the corpse-pile, his red eyes filled with hunger, his ring mail glistening with congealing blood. As he climbed down, the blood fiend stared at Modwyn, his red eyes filled with hunger. Unable to help himself, Modwyn took a step back. Serina’s foul breast milk had changed Modwyn, made him unbelievably fast and powerful, but he was still just a mortal man, not a blood fiend.
The corpses shifted again as Serina pulled herself free. Naked, her pale skin, although also covered in filth and grime, was flawless and white once more. Her burns and injuries—including the place where the sword had been thrust through her chest—had healed completely. Even her hair, burned away by the fire and the sun’s rays, had grown back again and now hung long and flowing down her back. She swung her legs over the side of the corpse-pile, and her childe rushed forward to help her climb down. Modwyn fell to his knees and stared at her bare feet as she approached. He loved her, he feared her. Serina Greywynne, the Blood Queen. My great-aunt.
“Where is the sword, my blood thrall?” she asked. “And where is the niece of Stron?”
“I… I’m sorry, my queen,” Modwyn stammered, lowering his forehead so that it touched the filthy rushes on the floor. “We were betrayed, an entire warship with over a hundred warriors. They took the woman—and the sword.”
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 33
