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

by William Stacey

  A brass bowl they had carried up the cliff in a sack lay on the ground before her. A foot wide, it was filled with fresh grain, sprinkled over the top with salt, and into which she had just poured a goatskin filled with ale. Placed on the ground around the bowl were twelve silver armbands. There had been thirteen, but Figlif no longer needed one. His duty was over, and no doubt, a brave warrior like him was already in Nifalgen, mayhap drinking with her father. She found that thought pleasing. She had always liked Figlif. When she was a little girl, she had ridden on his knee, pretending to be a ship tossed about by a storm as he bucked and thrashed, making stormy noises. Distracted by the memory, she almost missed the moment when the chanting reached its peak. Now, she knew. It must be now. The wights must be watching. Rolf smashed his chest against another of his men, sending the man staggering backward, his eyes fervent with religious joy.

  She bent down and picked up a sharpened bone dagger placed before the bowl. Holding her forearm over the bowl, she placed the edge of the blade against her skin. “Fenya, war mother, hear us this night. Accept the oaths of these brave warriors who have outlived their yarl. They are honorable men, who through no fault of their own cannot yet accompany their master to Nifalgen. I, Fioni Ice-Bound, daughter of Taios Oak-Heart, would take up their oaths. I will feed them. I will house them. I will treat them with honor.”

  “Hear us, Fenya!” the men screamed, their eyes wild, spittle running from the corner of their mouths. “Witness our oaths.”

  “But, most of all”—Fioni raised her voice—“I will bring them to the revenge they need.”

  “Bless us, Fenya!” they screamed.

  “Take my blood with theirs,” said Fioni, cutting her forearm with the bone dagger. The cut, although neither wide nor deep, still filled with blood, dripping down her arm and fingers and into the grain- and ale-filled bowl.

  “Take our blood! Take our blood!” the men chanted.

  Rolf stepped forward, his body trembling with excitement. Rolf thrust his arm out over the bowl, and she cut it. His blood mingled with hers in the bowl. She bent down, picked up the first silver arm-ring, and used it to stir the now-bloody grain, before holding the arm-ring out to Rolf. “What say you before the wights, Rolf Fork-Beard? What say you to those who would whisper your message to the ears of the gods, to Fenya herself?”

  “I say I swear to serve Fioni Ice-Bound, the daughter of Taios Oak-Heart. I will obey her orders. I will fight for her. I will kill for her. And—if necessary—I will die for her.”

  Fioni grabbed Rolf’s arm and thrust the bloody, grain-covered silver band all the way up his arm to his large bicep, jamming it in place. “I accept your oath, Rolf Fork-Beard. I offer you ale and salt for the rest of your life.”

  Rolf reached out and hugged her fiercely. The others cheered, and she felt giddiness for the first time since the death of her father. This is a good thing. Amid all the death, the oath of a good man is a blessing. She thought of Vory, and his loss shivered through her.

  The others came now, one by one, to cut their arms, mingle their blood with hers, and receive their armbands. Only Owen stood back, a look on his face of half uncertainty, half awe. He swore his own oath to the Lady Danika. Can his people transfer oaths?

  After midnight, the ceremony complete, they cleaned themselves as well as they could and dressed again, strapping their armor back in place. She tightened her sword belt as the others kicked out the fires, once more plunging the Fist of Wodor into darkness. The rain still drizzled down, but the storm was moving farther away. Then, far out over the sea, the lightning flared once more—in its sudden illumination, revealing the shapes of the three longships now sailing past the Fist of Wodor and into the bay. She stared wide eyed at Owen.

  “Serina,” he said softly. “She’s found us.”

  Chapter 6

  Danika

  Danika’s head jerked up as what sounded like an entire pack of coyotes began howling in the woods behind the beach. Ekkie stood, staring out to sea and growling. Danika felt a prickling in her scalp, the hair lifting on the back of her neck. The night was black, and the huge fire atop the Fist of Wodor had long since burned out. Rain continued to patter about them, and far out to sea, the occasional flicker of lightning flashed in the night sky. Kora watched Ekkie. “What’s up your ass, girl?” she muttered softly.

  “Something’s wrong,” Danika insisted, leaning forward to meet Kora’s eye. “The dog… the coyotes. We should send someone to check on Fioni and the others.”

  Kora shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.” She scratched Ekkie’s rump, but the dog only began to growl more aggressively and bark at the sea. “There’s a storm at sea. The thunder spooks animals, that’s all.”

  “I don’t think so. This… feels different.” She reached out and placed her hand on Kora’s forearm. “Please. Break the camp.”

  “You must be calm. No one knows we’re here. And even if the Hishtari navy—”

  “It’s not the Hishtari that scares me,” Danika insisted.

  Kora bit her lip. “Even if Serina could find us, Fen Wolf is the fastest ship in the Promiscuous Sea.”

  “Fen Wolf is anchored, her crew is sleeping, and her skipper is away,” insisted Danika, hearing the strain in her voice. “Look at Ekkie. Listen to the coyotes. Something is wrong. Break the camp!”

  Kora stared at her in silence. She’s not going to listen to me. Then Danika saw the momentary flicker of uncertainty in the other woman’s eyes.

  Chapter 7

  Owen

  Owen stood beside Fioni and the others, staring over the cliff and down into the darkness below. He drew Sight-Bringer, immediately feeling the rush of magic that heightened his senses. His vision suddenly as sharp as an owl’s, he saw the three longships again as they sailed around the base of the stalk and entered the bay. The largest ship was more than twice the size of the others—Iron Beard, the Waveborn clan’s prized drake-ship. Once, the massive warship had belonged to Fioni’s legendary great-grandfather Serl, before passing on to her father, Taios. Now, it belonged to their enemy. “It’s Iron Beard,” Owen said. “And two other ships.”

  “Galas,” Fioni said bitterly. “One of the other two must be Thunder Killer, but how did Galas get a third ship? You and Kora burned Blood Raven.”

  Behind them, Rolf lit a torch, showing the concern on the faces of the others. “They’re heading for the beach,” Owen said. “We need to warn them.”

  “Rolf, the horn,” she urged.

  Rolf handed his torch to her before drawing an intricately carved bone horn tied to his sword belt. Raising the horn to his lips, he blew a single, braying note, shattering the night’s silence. In the woods to the east, Owen heard coyotes howling. As Rolf lowered the horn, light suddenly flared into existence around each of the three ships far below as their crews—understanding someone had seen them—lit lanterns. From here, Owen could see the light of the bonfire on the beach, but nothing else, even with Sight-Bringer. They could do no more to warn the others.

  “What orders, Fioni?” asked Rolf.

  “We need to get back and get underway. We can’t fight three ships.”

  Fioni, still holding the torch, took off at a trot, with Owen and the others close behind her. They traversed the rope bridge much quicker this time, practically running over it. The bridge swayed and rocked beneath their weight, the ropes creaking in protest, but it held. In moments, Fioni scrambled back onto the sunken cliff leading back to the beach. The three ships were already ahead of them, rowing along the cliff as Fioni and the others scrambled down the path above them. One of the men ahead of Owen slipped on the wet rocks. Before Owen could even reach for him, the man disappeared, screaming as he fell. Fioni spun about, anguish in her eyes.

  “Keep going!” Rolf yelled from behind Owen. “If they beat us to the beach, we’re dead anyway.”

  Fioni turned away, continuing their mad dash down the trail.

  From here, Owen could look down on his left
, peering right onto the lantern-lit decks of the three longships, their oars pulling them along the cliff face. Rows of warriors standing shoulder to shoulder packed Iron Beard’s wide deck. Too many fighters, Owen realized. Something’s wrong here. Then one of the smaller longships broke away and turned to port, heading away. Iron Beard and the other longship continued along the cliff face, headed for the beach.

  “Thunder Killer,” Rolf said behind Owen. “Where’s she going?”

  Owen, with Sight-Bringer’s magic aiding him, gazed out over the bay. It was almost too far to see, but he could just make out a sleek dark shape moving quickly toward the mouth of the bay and the open sea. “Fen Wolf!” Owen cried, stopping Fioni and the others in their tracks. “Kora’s already underway, making a run for the sea.”

  Thunder Killer was trying to intercept Fen Wolf.

  “Are you certain?” Fioni demanded.

  “I am, but I don’t understand how they knew to get underway. Rolf only just blew the horn.”

  “Don’t know,” said Fioni. “But I’ve learned to never underestimate Kora Far-Sails.”

  “What do we do now?” Owen asked.

  The others stood panting and wheezing on the trail behind them. “We head inland,” said Fioni. “Kora will come back for us when she can.”

  Out on the bay, a drum began pounding, keeping cadence for the rowers. He could no longer see Fen Wolf’s shape, only the glow of the torchlight from the pursuing Thunder Killer. “How fast is Thunder Killer?” he asked.

  “Fast,” Fioni practically spat. Just then, she stiffened in alarm, gripping his bicep and squeezing it. “Look!” She pointed with the torch.

  Iron Beard had drifted to a halt ahead of them, parallel to the cliff face. On its massive castle-like steering platform, a single person—a tall blond woman—was staring up at them. A wave of terror washed over Owen, threatening to unman him. He recognized it and its source in a moment—Serina and the Dread that surrounded her, a dark aura of fear. Twice now, he had experienced this same crippling fear. The first time had been in the Great Crypt when Modwyn had woken Serina from her decades-long slumber, feeding her with the blood of Palin; the second time had been when they had tried to kill her in Port Eaton’s alehouse.

  “Gods,” whispered Fioni. “What’s happening?”

  The others were shaking in fear as well, their eyes reflecting their terror. In his grip, Sight-Bringer throbbed, sending a pulse of warmth up his arm, washing away the worst of the terror. Gripping Fioni’s arm, he spun her to face him and then shook her violently. “Fioni. We can’t stay here.”

  “I...how...what?”

  He shook her again. For a moment, she stared at him in confusion, her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish’s. Then purpose filled her eyes, and she gazed past him to the ship below. “Look!”

  As one, the mass of warriors on Iron Beard’s deck surged forward, headed for the gunwale facing the cliff. Without hesitation, they clambered over the ship’s hull and dropped into the frigid waters. Cold realization washed over him. “Ghouls,” he whispered.

  “There’s no such thing,” said Rolf weakly.

  The first of the living corpses had reached the wave-soaked rocks of the cliff face. Gripping the wet stones with immeasurably strong fingers, the ghoul began to climb, like a human spider, toward the sunken trail and the path. In moments, dozens more followed, moving quickly up the cliff. The first ghoul reached the path between them and the beach and, without hesitation, began shambling inexorably toward their party. “We’re cut off,” Owen said.

  Fioni, her face pale, looked up the trail. “We go back up.”

  The men turned and retraced their path. His stomach roiling with doubt, Owen turned and hurried after the others.

  Chapter 8

  Danika

  Standing on the stern platform with Kora, Danika peered past Fen Wolf’s sternpost at the pursuing longship. “Careful,” cautioned Kora, her hand upon the tiller. “If they’ve archers…”

  Danika ducked back behind the gunwale, her heartbeat pounding as several arrows flashed overhead. While some of the crew fought to raise the sail, the others pulled at their oars, desperately trying to get past the other ship and to the open sea, where they could catch the wind. If Kora had not listened to Danika, the enemy ships would have caught them on the beach. As it was, they had just barely gotten underway in time, abandoning their tents and supplies on the beach when they heard the alarm horn from the Fist of Wodor. Just beside her, Ekkie barked furiously, vibrating with anger.

  Kora glared over her shoulder at the approaching ship, coming at them from their port side. “Thunder Killer. Skippered by that skinny, ugly bastard, Ullyn Tangle-Beard. Almost killed him once. Wish I had.”

  Fen Wolf’s new oar-master, a thickset, dark-haired woman named Bryndil, stalked between the ranks of rowers, urging them to greater speed. Fen Wolf cut through the waves. But Thunder Killer was almost on them, less than three boat lengths away on their left. “They’re going to ram us,” Danika said.

  Kora snorted. “They’re going to try.”

  Armed warriors crowded the sides of Thunder Killer, screaming obscenities at Fen Wolf, but a single warrior stood alone at the other ship’s prow, separate from all the others. Something about him sent shivers down Danika’s spine, but with the lantern light behind him, she could only make out his dark shadow, silent and unmoving. And then she understood: unlike the others, he wore a gleaming ring-mail coat. The Fenyir didn’t wear armor at sea. To fall overboard in armor was certain death. Something about him seemed familiar…

  Ekkie snarled.

  “Now!” Kora screamed.

  The six crew members armed with the remaining Kur’teshi crossbows rose up over the gunwale, where they had been hiding out of sight, and aimed their weapons at Thunder Killer’s elevated stern platform, just barely visible at this angle. The enemy warriors, recognizing the danger, tried to duck down but mostly fell atop one another in a tangled heap. The crossbow-armed warriors released their devastating volley. Impossibly fast, the lone warrior at the prow dropped out of sight as the crossbow bolts whipped across the length of the longship, splintering wood and skewering the two men at the tiller. Just for a moment, Thunder Killer’s high prow seemed to hang in the air, and then it began to swing away.

  Fen Wolf’s crew cheered as the longship darted past the other vessel, headed for the open sea.

  Chapter 9

  Serina

  Serina watched her ghouls make their way along the sunken cliff. Some fell as they climbed, splashing back into the freezing waters without a sound, only to resurface moments later and once again begin to scale the cliff face. She watched them with a satisfied smile, knowing nothing could stop them. Out in the bay, Thunder Killer, with her childe Dilan aboard, pursued Fen Wolf. The map that had been hidden beneath the marsh-tick plates on Serl’s shield had brought her to this place, but somehow her prey had gotten underway before she could take them on the beach. If she knew for certain where the niece of Stron was, she wouldn’t have split her forces and pursued both the ship and those who had climbed the Fist of Wodor. Her fury was a cold frost seeping slowly over her entire body, turning it to ice. As she squeezed the gunwale, it burst into shards. Be calm, she told herself. Be a queen. You’ve waited fifty years to destroy the Dain line—another hour or two won’t make any difference.

  Behind her, she heard the approaching footsteps of several men. The first to speak was Yarl Galas Gilt-Mane, the tall, handsome Fenyir warrior with long, flowing locks of blond hair. “My queen,” he said with a nervous tremor in his voice. “What orders?”

  She turned, once again in control of her emotions, and considered her servants. Two men stood just behind Galas. The first was Galvin, a heavyset, bearded man who had been the former barrel-maker in Port Eaton before demonstrating himself to be an ambitious and capable leader. The remaining Greywynne Islanders, several dozen men, had deferred to his authority, choosing him to lead them. She had given him
command of Hard Stone, the ship that had once belonged to Yarl Vengir Flat-Nose—before she had taken his life and destroyed the Windhelm clan for their treason. The other man was her new blood thrall, Kory’ander Dey. The one-time Hishtari Moon Lord of Daenipor was young, boyish in form, and with the dark, pretty eyes she liked in her toys. He was only human, but she had altered him, giving him the gift of her blood milk, her mother’s milk, making him faster and stronger in order to serve her better. Her last blood thrall had been her ill-fated great-nephew Modwyn, dead now, murdered in Daenipor while trying to bring her the niece of Stron. Modwyn’s death was no great loss, but killing him had been an insult to her. Yet one more reason to kill this… Danika Dain. Gods damn that family!

  Dey watched her out of the corner of his eye. His blue-painted lips—denoting his status as Hishtari royalty—quivered as if he wanted to say something, but instead he cast his eyes down, staring at her feet. Still new to his condition, he had yet to come to grips with the full range of his… responsibilities, but that would come soon enough. New blood thralls were like pets; they needed proper training. She held her hand out to Dey. “Come forward, my pretty one.”

  He hesitated only a moment and then rushed forward. Equal parts fear and love filled his eyes as he gripped her hand with both of his and fell to his knees before her. “Command me, my queen.”

  He still hobbled slightly when he walked. The night she had claimed him, he had been abed, recovering from a spear wound in his thigh. As well as enhancing his physical abilities, her milk had also sped up his body’s healing. Had he been like her and Dilan, a true blood fiend, he’d have completely healed in a single day. But he was still only human, not worthy of her dark master’s gift of immortality.