Anguish coursed through her, and her shoulders shook. “I could never be as great as you, father. You were better than Serl ever was.”
He smiled but then coughed up a bubble of bloody spit that ran down into his beard. “Do you…think so?”
“Fioni,” said Kora. “We have to go. Galas’s men…”
She was right, Fioni saw. Even now, Galas’s men were coming out of the trees and forming a shield wall. Her father’s herdsmen locked their shields together in front of her, backed up on both flanks by Owen and Vory. Kora turned and bolted away, back toward Fen Wolf. Ekkie stood before them, barking furiously at the approaching men.
“We’ll carry him aboard,” Fioni said, knowing it would be pointless.
Taios shook his head. “No. Sail… now!”
“Don’t be such an old boar. There’s still—”
He shook his head as a spasm of pain gripped him. “So proud…so proud.”
“Fioni,” said Vory. “We can fight, but we can’t win.”
“Daughter. Promise… promise,” Taios mumbled, his eyes still closed.
“I promise, father. I will kill Galas Gilt-Mane for you. I will gut him like a fish for this.”
Taios shook his head and opened his eyes again. This time his gaze was focused. “No.” He squeezed her hand. “Galas doesn’t matter…help the northerners. Find your uncle.”
“Father, I have to save our people.”
“No.” His bloody grip tightened as a spasm of pain coursed through him. “I was wrong…wrong about…everything…my punishment.”
“They’re coming!” Vory called out.
Through vision blurring with tears, Fioni saw the line of Galas’s men advancing, still about a hundred paces away.
“Listen,” her father managed. “In…in the chest…not just silver.”
“Brace yourselves!” Vory yelled.
The enemy advanced in a line, their shields overlapped—far too many of them, they’d overwhelm her father’s herdsmen. Galas stood behind them, screaming orders to take Fioni alive. She gripped Wave’s Kiss, preparing to stand and fight. Then the air above her head whistled as a volley of crossbow bolts slammed into the front ranks of Galas’s men, punching right through the wooden shields. Galas’s men drew back, falling over themselves to get away. Kora stood, crossbow in hand, beside a score of Fioni’s crew, including some of the women from Taios’s longhouse, the heavyset Sif among them. Each of them carried a Kur’teshi crossbow, which they began to rearm.
Vory charged at the distracted warriors, the others, including Owen, right behind him. They struck, scattering the rest of Galas’s men, who ran back to the wood line. Ekkie brought down another man, her teeth lodged in his throat.
Her father gripped her hand again. His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear him. She bent down, put her ear near his lips.
“Promise,” he gasped. “Finish what Serl should have done.”
“Father…”
“Destroy Serina. Promise.”
“I promise,” she said, her heart breaking.
A smile curled up the side of his mouth. “Your mother, I see…”
And then he was gone.
“Fioni,” said Kora, her hand on Fioni’s shoulder, her loaded crossbow held against her hip. “They’re coming back.”
She staggered to her feet. “Vory! We leave now! To the ship.”
Vory, looking quickly over his shoulder, met her eyes and nodded.
“Ekkie, heel!” she yelled.
The wolfhound darted a quick glance at her over her shoulder, barked once more at the enemy, and then ran to join Fioni. As one, the line of warriors began to move backwards while the women fired off another volley of crossbow bolts. Fioni joined the warriors, standing next to Owen, who had traded his axe for one of the curved Kur’teshi swords. They reached the river’s edge and Fen Wolf. Galas screamed orders at his men to stop them, but none of them seemed eager to rush into the crossbow bolts.
“Get everyone aboard!” Fioni yelled.
She heard the others splash into the water behind her as they climbed aboard the longship.
“That’s everyone, Fioni,” Vory said from just behind her. “Now you!”
Fioni’s gaze locked on Galas, who was urging his men to attack. “Give me a crossbow. I can hit the bastard.”
A moment later, Vory gripped her around the waist, lifted her out of the water, and threw her, struggling, to the others on Fen Wolf. Hands grabbed her, dumped her onto the deck. A moment later, Ekkie was beside her. Several of her crew formed a barrier in front of her with their shields.
Vory pulled himself over the gunwale, landing on his belly.
“Oars out, and row!” yelled Kora.
In one lurching moment, Fen Wolf drew back, skipping atop the waves as it moved downriver, toward the sea. Fioni, climbing to her feet, leaned over the shoulders of the crew members shielding her as several arrows flashed past them. She saw Galas’s blond hair shining in the rising sun.
She cupped her mouth, yelling, “I’m going to kill you, cousin. By all the gods, I swear it.”
Chapter 17
Owen
Fen Wolf’s hull sliced through the waves, the wind flapping the large sail. Almost a hundred people were crammed aboard the longship, many of them wounded, some of them dying. The refugees from Yarl Taios’s household sat huddled together, too exhausted to talk. Children clutched at their mothers’ arms. It’s a hard thing to lose one’s home, Owen thought as he stared at them, to be wrenched away and sent fleeing across an ocean.
He sat near the rear of the ship beside Lady Danika, who had wrapped herself in her traveling cloak and had barely said a word all morning. A girl, no more than eight, slept with her head in the noblewoman’s lap.
One of the wounded crew, a young woman, cried out in pain, thrashing about. A crossbow bolt had punched right through her midsection, tearing a jagged hole in her back on the way out, taking with it a piece of her kidney. Sif, the older woman who had welcomed them to Yarl Taios’s longhouse, knelt beside her, speaking soft words into her ear as she tried to keep her calm. She’d be dead within the hour, Owen knew.
He was no physician, but thanks to Keep-Captain Awde’s mentoring, he understood battlefield wounds well enough. Broken bones could be set; lacerations and cuts—even deep ones—healed with enough time…if the wound didn’t fester… but arrows and bolts bit deeply, cutting and tearing organs, causing bleeding within the body that couldn’t be stopped. Wounds like that were usually fatal.
Luckily, his own wound had been minor—a shallow cut along his outer thigh. At first, the cut had bled profusely, but with pressure and a poultice, it had soon stopped altogether. It wouldn’t even need stitching. He had been lucky. What he really needed was armor.
The sun was high on their right, still to the east, but it would be overhead soon. They had been sailing northeast, keeping the small isles of the Fenyir chain on their right. With every minute, they travelled farther away from King’s Hold.
Fioni stood at the stern platform, her hand upon the tiller of the steering board, her face pale. A massive wolfhound lay next to her feet. Kora stood with her, but neither woman spoke. Fioni met Owen’s gaze for a moment, her eyes hard and cold. She looked away, and Owen felt his face flush with heat. Last night she slips into my bed. Today—after I saved her life—she won’t even look at me. Damn her.
Damn all these Fenyir.
His anger rising, he made his way past the exhausted refugees, planting himself in front of Fioni and Kora. “We’re sailing the wrong way.”
Fioni stared at him for long moments. “Go sit down.”
The dog growled, her eyes hard.
Owen, his balance low, pointed to the west. “King’s Hold is that way.”
Fioni snorted. “Well done, Sir Owen of Toscovar. You know east from west. Should my crew swear loyalty to you now?”
“Why are we sailing east?” he insisted.
Fioni sighed and looked away. “W
e’re going to Voria Island, to our allies, the Windhelm clan.”
“Why?”
“To get their help,” Kora said. “So we can go back and save our people and take our home back.”
“We’re not going back,” said Fioni. “Not just yet.”
Kora’s head snapped around. “Why not?”
“Owen, what are you doing?” Lady Danika asked, now standing just behind him.
Glancing over his shoulder, he also saw Vory making his way to the rear of the ship. Yarl Taios’s herdsman Rolf was with him. Both men watched Owen uneasily. Now, he saw with some concern, most of the crew and the refugees were also staring at him.
So be it.
Owen focused on Fioni. “You promised to take us home. Are you breaking your word?”
“Owen,” urged Lady Danika, now gripping his arm.
He ignored her. Fioni released the tiller and advanced on Owen, her eyes flashing. “You challenge me on my own ship? Men have died for less, northerner. Are you addlepated? Did you not see the attack on our home, the murder of my father?”
“We thank you for your help,” said Lady Danika, pushing past Owen to stand between them. “But Owen does have a point. When will you take us west again?”
“Why not right now?” Owen insisted. Damn this woman! She’d have died last night if not for my help.
“Because I made my father a promise!” Fioni yelled, her face red. “One I need not explain to you!”
“What promise, Fioni?” asked Rolf.
Fioni’s gaze flitted to her father’s herdsman before returning to glare at Owen. “Gods damn it, Owen. This is not the time.”
“Fioni, what promise?” repeated Rolf.
She sighed. “To kill the Blood Queen.”
“Kill Serina?” Kora asked, her eyes growing wide. “What madness is this? We need to rescue our people. This ship is filled with those who are too young or too old to fight. What of them?”
Doubt flitted through Fioni’s eyes, but it was replaced in a moment by cold resolve. “We’ll offload the others in Voria Bay. Yarl Vengir and the Windhelm clan will take them in. But we’re not going back to Welmen Town yet. I need you to trust me, Kora, to stand beside me.”
Kora stared at her for several long seconds before nodding. “You know I will, but why?”
“Galas needs to die for what he’s done,” said Vory as he pushed past Owen.
“And he will!” Fioni’s eyes flashed. “By my own hand, I swear it. But I’ve promised my father.”
“I was the leader of your father’s house-herd,” said Rolf. “We have a duty to avenge him.”
A chorus of agreement rang out behind them, and Owen now noticed that everyone, both crew and refugees, were staring at them, whispering to one another.
“I said I’d kill Galas, and I will,” said Fioni through clenched teeth. She glared at Owen and shook her head before turning away and climbing the raised stern of the longship, so that everyone aboard the ship could see her. She raised her voice. “Listen to me, all of you. Before he died, my father—your yarl—bade me swear an oath to help the northerners and kill the Blood Queen, Serina Greywynne.”
A shudder passed through the assembled crew and passengers. Several of the children began to cry.
“How?” asked Kora. “How will we kill her?”
“With this,” said Fioni, lithely jumping back down to the deck and swinging open the lid of the chest her father’s herdsmen had carried. Inside, Owen saw rolls of parchments—maps—and a battered book sitting atop mounds of silver coins and bars—as well as the hilt of Sight-Bringer.
Fioni lifted the broken blade above her head, holding it high for all to see. The sun glinted on the jagged blade. “We will drive Sight-Bringer through Serina’s heart.”
“You have it?” said Lady Danika, her voice nearly breaking with emotion. “Thank the Craftsman, I thought…”
“If my father wouldn’t leave his silver hoard for Galas, he certainly wouldn’t leave such a treasure behind either.” She then lifted the battered journal and held it up next to the broken sword. “And this is Serl Raven-Eye’s journal, detailing his voyage into the Feral Sea. It holds the key to finding Serina’s heart.”
“How will we find our way in the fog?” Kora asked.
Fioni faltered for a moment. “I’ll explain later—after we’ve spoken with Yarl Vengir. For now, we continue northeast.”
“So,” said Lady Danika, “we sail to this…Voria Bay.”
“We’ll be there by nightfall,” said Fioni.
“And then we sail… north? Into the Feral Sea for this… Torin Island?” asked Lady Danika.
Once again, Owen saw the hesitation in Fioni’s eyes. “For now, you need to trust me, my lady of Wolfrey.” Her eyes darted to Rolf and the others. “You all need to trust me.”
The crew—Rolf and her father’s herdsmen included—bobbed their heads in acknowledgement, acquiescing and muttering their agreement before turning away.
Fioni waited until they had moved away and then stared at Owen, her eyes harder than a sword’s blade. “If you ever question me again in front of my crew, northerner, I’ll gut you and throw you to the sharks.”
She brushed past him, the huge wolfhound at her heels.
Chapter 18
Galas
The late-morning sun beat down upon Galas’s head as he stared at the dead body of his uncle, the once-esteemed Yarl Taios Oak-Heart. Oak-Heart—what a stupid name-gift. It made it sound as though his uncle had been some strong, noble warrior and not the overweight, craven fool he truly had been. And they name me ‘Gilt-Mane.’ How original. From now on, I’ll make them name me something more fitting—Galas Hard-Arm, Galas the Conqueror. Galas Stern-Rule.
A long time ago, Galas had looked up to his uncle, seeing him as larger than life. That had been before Galas understood how the world truly worked, how the strong needed to seize power from the weak. He had given his uncle a warrior’s death, a noble act on his part—not that his wretched clans-folk would recognize it; already they were whispering, calling him kin-killer. First Gilt-Mane, now Kin-Killer. After I’ve hanged enough of them, they’ll learn to appreciate me.
Around his uncle’s neck, almost disappearing beneath the bloated flesh, was the corded black stone sigil of a black fish, the emblem of Waveborn yarls. Galas reached down and ripped it free, holding it in his palm. “This is mine now, you old bastard.”
He turned away from the body, which was already beginning to stink. More than a dozen corpses, all Waveborn, lay scattered along the shoreline. Small crabs crawled over the rotting corpses while fat glistening flies buzzed angrily. Closer to the forest, the Kur’teshi mercenaries were burying their dead in a mass grave. Galas watched their shovels rise and fall. Of all the ridiculous customs of the easterners, perhaps the most silly was their worship of animal gods. They insisted that if they didn’t bury their dead before nightfall, the wandering spirits of woodland animals would steal into the corpses and make them rise and walk once more. Galas spat on the sand. Woodland animal spirits! What savages.
And now those savages were furious with Galas, blaming him for their losses. What were they going to do when they learned that Galas could no longer pay them what he had promised? He had needed Taios’s silver hoard, but that silver now sailed with Fioni.
Galas’s rage grew with the heat of the noonday sun. Damn that bitch. And damn those idiot brothers, Bolin and Golm. Had they done their job properly, we’d have killed Taios in his bed and taken his daughter and his silver at the same time. Who knew Taios had a secret way out of his longhouse? And what kind of a cowardly yarl runs away?
Galas kicked Taios’s corpse, scattering a handful of small crabs. His bodyguard, ten of his most-trusted warriors, stared at their feet. On the hill at the far end of Welmen Town, smoke from the ruins of his uncle’s longhouse drifted into the sky. Farther down the river, the blackened timbers of his prized longship, Blood Raven, still smoked, the stench reaching him even her
e. My ship. My beautiful ship. At least he had taken the town, and Iron Beard, the massive drake-ship, was a power to itself in these waters. But it wouldn’t be enough…
I have to find Fioni. I need that silver. I need her.
“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, dear uncle,” Galas told the corpse. “Now, word will spread to the other clans. They’ll sing songs of your noble death, how instead of dying in bed like you were supposed to, you fought your way free—saving your daughter and slaughtering scores of your enemies. What a pile of fish guts!” Galas ground his teeth and then kicked the corpse several more times.
Turning away, he stormed off, heading back to town, his town. His men scurried to keep up. He’d need to get used to the constant presence of bodyguards now, for at least the next few years and possibly longer. Weak men resented true strength, and there would always be weak men hiding in the shadows, trying to stop Galas from achieving his destiny.
Let the weasels try.
He was in a bad spot, though. Even with the men he had lost on the shore of the river, Fatah Yur Min still had almost two hundred men to Galas’s eighty, and they were all better armed and armored. Galas regretted sending Ullyn to Greywynne Island on what now seemed like a fool’s errand. He’d need Ullyn’s men. He’d need every single man he could find. Could he trust any of the townsfolk? They were angry still, but maybe he could strike a deal with some of them. If they joined his forces and helped him with the Kur’teshi…
No. Not now. Not yet. They still whisper and glare when I walk by.
All of his careful plans had gone to shit—all because of his dead uncle and his whore of a cousin. When he caught Fioni—and he was going to catch her—he’d make her squeal. He wouldn’t kill her. He still needed the great-granddaughter of Serl Raven-Eye, but he’d punish her. Oh, how he’d punish her.
As they approached the gatehouse, he saw it was now manned by Kur’teshi soldiers. His bodyguard closed in on him, eying the easterners warily. Hringol, his first mate, a tall, dark-haired man with a pleated beard and more scars than any man should have had, caught up to him, walking alongside him, the haft of his fighting axe resting against his shoulder. Hringol’s skill with that axe was feared among the clans, but there were just far too many of the easterners.
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 39
