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

by William Stacey

  Kalishni’coor closed his eyes for a moment and sent his consciousness into the flesh-vessel. “No. That will not be necessary. I will flay the skin from any man who fails to treat them as honored guests.”

  The guard captain’s face paled as his eyes flicked from the boy to Kalishni’coor. They had all heard the rumors about him, Kalishni’coor knew, but it had been so long since he had last roused himself from his chambers that the guards and servants weren’t sure what was truth and what was legend.

  “Yes, Moon Lo—yes, my lord,” the man squeaked as he bowed deeply, backing away.

  “Remember what I told you,” Kalishni’coor said to his great-grandson.

  Kory’ander Dey nodded quickly and then smoothed his robes across his knees in an attempt to look regal. Guards pulled the large double doors open, admitting Serina’s emissaries. Five of the men were fierce Fenyir raiders wearing ring mail and heavy fur-lined cloaks, with sheathed swords hanging from their belts. They glared disdainfully at the guards as they strode in. One of them, clearly their leader, was a tall, wide-shouldered lion of a man with flowing blond hair. The sixth man was a thin, somewhat effeminate individual with dark hair and one eye covered by a bandage. Dressed like a scholar in flowing dark robes, he had to be Serina’s thrall, Kalishni’coor knew in a moment. Appearances be damned, this is the one to watch.

  The two men, the tall blond warrior and her blood thrall, stepped forward. The blond man ignored Kalishni’coor entirely, inclining his head in respect to his great-grandson. However, the one-eyed man turned to Kalishni’coor instead, bowing deeply. His great-grandson’s face turned red, but the boy wisely kept his fool mouth shut.

  “Her Majesty, Serina Greywynne, Queen of the Fenyir Islands and rightful ruler of the Kingdom of Conarck, sends her love to the Blue Man, Kalishni’coor,” the one-eyed man said.

  Again, Kalishni’coor focused his consciousness into the vessel. “And I welcome the emissaries of Queen Serina, my greatest friend.”

  The one-eyed man bowed again, unperturbed by the oddness of the boy’s voice.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Modwyn Du’Greywynne, servant of the Queen, and her honored great-nephew. My colleague is Yarl Galas Gilt-Mane of the Waveborn clan of Great Drake’s Head.”

  “You are both welcome in my city. Is… the queen with you?”

  “The queen will join us in due time. She sent us ahead on a matter of some urgency.”

  “Yes, the Dain woman. Serina has already expressed her desire for her.”

  “Queen Serina,” Modwyn said.

  Yarl Galas Gilt-Mane stepped forward. “A red-haired she-bitch is with the Dain woman. I want her.”

  “The Dain woman came to us,” said Kalishni’coor, ignoring Galas, “with lies about ending piracy in the Promiscuous Sea.”

  “Where is she now?” Modwyn asked.

  “Safe.”

  “And Fioni Ice-Bound?” Galas asked.

  “The Dain woman’s accomplices are…in hiding somewhere in the city, but don’t worry, they have been taken by elements of the city’s underworld. Before the sun sets again, they will be handed over to me.”

  “And the sword,” Modwyn asked. “They stole a sword from the queen. The blade is broken, and thus the sword has no value, but she wishes it returned nonetheless.”

  Kalishni’coor’s gaze tightened. Sword? What sword? A second later, the only possible answer came to him—Sight-Bringer. And now he remembered, during the battle, the Dain woman had thrown something to her bodyguard. Ancestors help me, it was Sight-Bringer! How could I have missed it? And those idiot soldiers allowed him to escape with it. I’ll have them all flayed for this.

  His rage coursed through him, threatened to overcome him, but he kept his voice honey. “Yes, of course I have the sword as well, but as you say, it has no value.”

  “It has sentimental value to the queen,” said Modwyn. “It must be returned with the Dain woman.”

  “I see. Well…that will depend of course on the fulfillment of a promise Serina—Queen Serina—made to me forty-eight years ago.”

  Modwyn’s body stiffened. “My lord. She won’t be pleased.”

  “And I’m dying. I have nothing to lose. It’s taken every bit of arcane skill I possess to remain alive this long. I will have the immortality that she promised me.”

  Modwyn bowed his head in acknowledgement, but Kalishni’coor didn’t miss the fact that the man’s one good eye darted about the walls of the throne room.

  “I shall deliver your terms to the queen,” Modwyn said. “She will be here soon in person.”

  “I look forward to seeing my great friend once again.”

  Modwyn opened his mouth but paused for a moment, his one eye twitching. “My lord, the queen has insisted I see the Dain woman for myself. You understand, of course?”

  “That you don’t trust me? Of course.”

  “It is her command,” Modwyn stated with finality.

  “Very well. But you alone shall be brought to see her. And then you and your friends shall be our honored guests until the queen arrives. Is this acceptable?”

  “It is, my lord,” answered Modwyn.

  The guards led Modwyn, Galas, and his warriors from the throne room. When the double doors closed behind them, Kalishni’coor turned to glare at his great-grandson. “Ancestors damn you! Why was I not told about Sight-Bringer?”

  Kory’ander Dey’s face went white as he jerked back in sudden fear. “I…what is a Sight-Bringer, grandfather?”

  “What price are the thieves asking for the two barbarians who escaped?”

  “Five hundred thumb-talents of silver,” he said. “But they’re only pirates. I refused—”

  “Pay it! Pay any price they ask, and find out if they have a broken sword, one with a white handle carved in the likeness of a beastly woman, her arms outstretched.”

  “I… I don’t—”

  “I don’t expect or care if you understand. I need that sword.”

  Kory’ander Dey bobbed his head quickly. “Yes… yes, great-grandfather. Of course. What… what about the shield?”

  “Shield? What shield?”

  “The kingdom woman, Danika Dain. She insisted on the return of Serl Raven-Eye’s shield. The one that hung in here before you had it moved to a storeroom.”

  He remembered the shield now, although he hadn’t thought of it in decades. All those years ago, it had pleased him to have it hanging here, as a memento of killing that old pirate, but it had no real value—other than frustrating the Fenyir and their prickly pride. He stared in puzzlement at his great-grandson. “She wanted the shield?”

  “As… as a sign of good faith for the Fenyir,” Kory’ander Dey stammered. “To… to secure an agreement to end the Fenyir raiding upon our ships.”

  Kalishni’coor closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the decades upon him. He was so old, so tired. And now this—his own great-grandson was a complete and utter fool. The shame to his ancestors was beyond description. Sighing, he fixed his black gaze upon the young idiot on the throne. “Have the shield taken out of storage and brought to my quarters immediately. In the meantime, we must recapture the two that escaped—and get back that sword! Turn out the entire garrison if you have to. Search every home and building in Docktown.”

  #

  Kalishni’coor watched as the elderly artisan unrolled a leather-wrapped toolkit onto the floor. He worked on hands and knees before Kalishni’coor, his long, thin fingers shaking with fear. The leather- and cloth-covered round-shield of the pirate Serl Raven-Eye—found in an old storage room where it had been nearly forgotten—now lay before the artisan. The shield was two feet in width and slightly concave. The cloth covering had been painted yellow with a dark-green raven’s head facing the left side of the shield. The raven’s eye was formed by the metal shield boss, the iron cup that protected the bearer’s hand when he gripped the shield.

  “Be careful,” Kalishni’coor said through the flesh-vessel st
anding like a statue beside his litter. Two burly soldiers, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, stood just behind the artisan.

  “Yes, great lord,” said the artisan as he carefully pried away the cloth-and-leather covering over the round-shield, cutting it away from the shield boss and exposing the marsh-tick plates beneath. The chitin plates had been expertly attached over the shield’s wooden frame, creating a near-seamless surface.

  Kalishni’coor grew impatient. “You’re certain you can disassemble the plates without breaking them?”

  The artisan’s eyes darted fearfully toward the flesh-vessel and then Kalishni’coor himself. The man was bone thin, with a long hooked nose, white hair, and lined face. Yet, compared to Kalishni’coor, he seemed almost a youth.

  “Yes, great lord.” His lips and fingers trembled. “But working with chitin is never simple, even when freshly harvested and more durable. In time, the chitin rots and becomes much more brittle. This shield will shatter if it is ever struck again.”

  “You think I need a shield, fool? Hurry up!”

  “Yes, great lord.”

  The artisan began to remove the iron rim first, using pliers and a small hammer to pry it away from the shield’s edge. “Most shields, great lord—particularly Fenyir ones—are made to be disposable. They break easily enough in battle, being little more than wooden frames. Much care and effort has gone into this one, though. Truly, it is a work of art.”

  “Yes, yes—just be careful!”

  He peeled away the iron rim, placing it on the floor beside him, and then picked up a miniature chisel and hammer. Inserting the bladed edge of the chisel beneath one of the black chitin plates, each the size of his fist, he gently tapped it with the hammer. “Most artisans use every piece of a tick’s thoraxe plate, even though the chitin becomes weaker farther away from the thoraxe center.” The edge began to come loose as the small pins holding it in place pulled free of the wood.

  “The plates in this shield, though,” the artisan continued, “have been worked so that only the strongest, thickest parts of the thoraxe have been used, with the weaker extremities cut away and discarded. Never have I seen its like. The value is staggering.” He carefully lifted away the first plate, placing it tenderly beside him and exposing the wooden shield planks beneath it.

  “Wait! Lift the shield up. Show me the wood.”

  The artisan lifted the shield toward the boy, holding it before him in both hands.

  “Not the boy, fool! Me,” Kalishni’coor snapped.

  Instantly, the artisan scurried closer to Kalishni’coor’s litter, holding the shield before him. Kalishni’coor stared at it, squinting intently, but he saw nothing inscribed or painted on the wood. He had been certain there would be a map…or something. He damped down his disappointment.

  “Go on,” he ordered.

  The artisan quickly bobbed his head and scurried back to continue removing the plates. When the old man pried his chisel beneath another plate, Kalishni’coor heard a faint crack. A corner of the chitin plate, several fingers’ width, broke off and tumbled to the floor. White-hot rage burned through Kalishni’coor.

  “A thousand apologies, great lord,” the man said, reaching for the broken chip that had landed facedown. “The plates are so brittle—”

  “Wait! Bring that piece closer.”

  The artisan scurried forward again, the chip in his leathery palm.

  “Turn it over, you senile old fool!”

  When the artisan did so, Kalishni’coor’s hopes surged anew. “The other plate, show it to me as well.”

  The artisan did as he was told, and when Kalishni’coor saw the careful markings that had been carved into its underside, he knew his immortality was once again within his grasp. Once he had Serina’s heart, she’d do anything to stay alive. We’ll see which of us the Dark Lord truly favors. The haughty Fenyir bitch will be my slave—for eternity.

  “Remove the rest of the plates. But know that the next plate you break will see you die screaming.”

  “Yes, great lord.”

  “And someone find me a mapmaker.”

  Chapter 40

  Owen

  Owen stood back as Fioni and Kora embraced on the sandy beach. The female wolfhound, Ekkie, jumped from the deck of Fen Wolf and ran to Fioni, splashing through the waters, her tongue hanging out.

  Fioni pulled away from Kora and held her at arm’s length, her face suddenly stern. “I thought I ordered you to sail if there was trouble.”

  “I did sail,” Kora said, indignation on her face. “Does this look like Cos Town to you?”

  “Does Erland know?”

  Kora shook her head. “I think not. We sailed after dark, travelled west before turning around and coming back. There’s a small inlet within those trees, little more than a big stream, but Fen Wolf’s draft is shallow. We hid until we saw you and that tug chasing you.”

  “So no one knows you’re here?”

  “I trust Erland the Otter as much as I do any other Hishtari.” Kora smirked. Her eyes darted in the direction of Gali. “Speaking of Hishtari…”

  “This,” said Fioni as she pulled the young woman over and wrapped an arm around her neck, “is Gali, the newest member of Fen Wolf. See that she’s properly employed. You don’t need to stay with us, Gali, but you’ll always have a place on my ship if you do.”

  “Thank you, mistress,” Gali said.

  Owen stepped out into the waves and stared at the Hishtari patrol vessel. Some members of Fen Wolf’s crew were still aboard it, searching for plunder. The ship seemed undamaged. Corpses bobbed in the water—corpses wearing Hishtari uniforms. He stared across the bay. In the distance, he could just make out the white gleaming walls of Daenipor and a smaller pink smudge beside the walls.

  An idea began to form in his mind.

  #

  “That’s impossible,” said Kora, staring at Owen as if he had just claimed he could piss fine wine. “No one can climb the walls of the Rose Palace, not at night, and certainly not while carrying a heavy coil of rope.”

  “Wait,” said Fioni, placing her hand on Kora’s forearm. “Yes, he can. He’s like a spider on those walls.”

  “I thought you said he fell off once already?” Kora asked her.

  “No,” said Owen. “Fioni fell. I jumped in after her.”

  The three of them stood along the shoreline, with Rolf Fork-Beard, Gali, and a handful of the more senior crew members listening in as Owen explained his plan.

  “Truly?” asked Kora. “You can climb that cliff face at night?”

  “Kora, I could climb that cliff face at night during a storm while carrying you over my shoulder,” he said with a straight face, which was complete nonsense, of course, but he was reasonably certain he could scale the cliff in the dark—especially with Sight-Bringer’s magic aiding him. The heavy coil of walrus-hide rope he’d have to carry while he climbed, however, was another matter, but one he’d do better not thinking about.

  He’d scale that cliff or die.

  The others discussed it among themselves, muttering in doubt.

  Fioni raised her hand, motioning everyone to be silent. “Let’s start again. You and a handful of others take the Hishtari patrol boat and sail beneath the bridge leading to the Rose Palace.”

  “The water will be calm there, in the estuary between the cape and the bay, away from the river,” Owen insisted. “And if we’re wearing the Hishtari uniforms, no one will challenge us.”

  “Unless they see you climbing the palace walls,” Fioni said.

  “It’s worth the chance,” insisted Owen. “I climb up first, with a rope, secure it to the walls—”

  “And the others climb up after you,” finished Fioni. “What then?”

  “Then? Then we find Lady Danika and rescue her and get away before we’re caught.”

  Fioni shook her head. “That won’t work. We still need to find the shield and the map, or we’ll never find Torin Island.”

  Kora
leaned in. “That Hishtari boat can’t carry enough warriors to take the fortress.”

  Owen sighed, turned away, and ran his palms over his face. She was right. To stand a chance, they’d need the entire crew, all eighty Fenyir warriors—and even that might not be enough.

  “What about the Water Gate?” Gali asked.

  They all turned to stare at her.

  “Water Gate?” Fioni asked.

  “On the east side of the palace, there’s a small gate that opens on a path running along the cape to the mainland. The path runs beside a well. The gate is called—”

  “The Water Gate,” Fioni said. “I knew about the path but not the well. I never even thought about a gate.”

  “It’s not a secret,” said Gali. “The Bent Men often bribe the guards to smuggle items in or out of the palace.”

  “How many guards?” Fioni asked.

  Gali shrugged. “No more than a handful, I think. The gate is opposite the sea and the bay. To even approach it, an enemy would need to somehow—”

  “Get past the chain across the river,” Fioni finished. “They’re not worried about the Water Gate, because all threats come from the sea.”

  “Fioni,” said Owen, his excitement growing, “the map from your father’s study? Is it—”

  “It’s in the chest with his silver,” she said. “He paid much for it and never would have parted with it.”

  “I remember a delta south of the river, swampland,” Owen said.

  Fioni smiled. “Swampland with a series of interlocked streams—but if it were possible to use the delta to sail around the chain, my father would have considered it, and he didn’t.”

  “That’s not true,” said Rolf. “He and I discussed it several times. Your father knew that terrain better than any man who ever lived. But he always claimed the swampland was too shallow for Iron Beard.”