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

by William Stacey

  But before that war could start, they needed to capture one ship.

  Unfortunately, Fioni and Fen Wolf were proving tough prey, which in turn angered the queen and put Galas’s own life at risk. Damn Fioni! How can one woman be so much trouble?

  He squatted down beside one of the prisoners, a young woman with light-brown hair and a horn-shaped birthmark on her cheek. Like the others, she sat silently, staring at nothing, her eyes vacant and glassy. Previously, they had only been under a light guard; after all, they were on a ship at sea. But yesterday one of them had simply stood up and climbed over the gunwale, disappearing beneath the waves before anyone could do anything. What horrors did they see, I wonder, the night Serina sent her ghouls into Voria Bay? He pulled the girl’s shirt open and placed his palm on her naked breast, her soft nipple rubbing against his calloused palm. As expected, she didn’t move, nor did her expression change. What do they see down in the hold? He placed his ear against the skin of her chest, listening to her heart slowly beat, almost as if she were sleeping. Then he sat back and slapped her so hard she fell over onto her side, a raw palm print on her cheek.

  She didn’t even blink.

  He sighed, standing back up, his fingers gently pulling on the stone carving of a black fish hanging from a knotted cord around his neck. The black fish was the hereditary sigil of the Waveborn yarls, and Galas had ripped this carving from around the neck of his dead uncle the morning after his attack on Welmen Town. “It would be a kindness,” he told the girl, “if I were to cut your throat right now.”

  The girl’s eyes remained empty.

  He felt Serina’s presence then, a cold chill that swept through his bones. No matter how often he felt the Dread, he’d never grow used to it. He saw the same fear spread through the faces of the others, his Waveborn warriors, the Hishtari soldiers, and the handful of Greywynne Islanders who had survived the fighting on the beach. Galas hurried to take his place before the hold, grasping his hands before him to stop them from trembling.

  The doors flew open, smashing back, and Serina stepped out into the night, highlighted by a moonbeam so that her pale skin seemed to glow with a silvery hue. Around her shoulders, she wore a fox-fur cape, its collar high against her slender neck. As always, her hair was tightly braided in the old style, interwoven with silver chains and small gems. Behind her scurried that guppy, Dey. Blood and filth stained his face, his gaze fixed upon the wooden deck.

  The corner of Galas’s mouth curled into a sneer, but he quickly hid his pleasure, dropping down on a knee before the queen. His men immediately followed his example, followed moments later by the others, including the Hishtari soldiers.

  “My queen,” Galas said.

  Serina stepped closer. “Our enemy is far to the northwest now, Yarl Galas, so far. While you’ve remained here, they’ve slipped away from us—again.”

  “I apologize, my queen.” Galas glared at Dey. “Your servant said—”

  “My slave was mistaken, Yarl Galas, nor does he speak for me. Never forget that again.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “I need you to set sail now. Head north. Follow the coastline.”

  North? He glanced up at her in confusion, wondering if he had somehow misheard her. “But Fen Wolf sailed west, my queen.”

  “Yes, but my childe is north—and so is your ship. I’m assuming you wish it back, yes?”

  Galas’s fear spiked, his heart throbbing in his chest. “My... my queen...”

  “Say your words, Yarl Galas. Loyal chieftains have nothing to fear from speaking truth to me.”

  Galas inhaled deeply and then averted his eyes from her tattooed, masklike face and her unnatural bloodred eyes. “My queen, I fear we have been betrayed. Ullyn Tangle-Beard… I fear that coward must have murdered your childe and then fled with my ship. Thunder Killer is fast. I can’t catch it in Iron Beard. Nor do I think Ullyn would have sailed north. There’s nothing north. He’ll sail south and then east, likely make for Xi’ur.”

  Serina approached, her boots stopping before his eyes. She cupped his cheek with her hand, almost tenderly. “No, of course Ullyn has not betrayed us, Galas,” she said softly, as if lecturing a small child. “You, he might betray—if he felt he could profit by doing so—but me? No. Even Xi’ur is not that far away.”

  Galas shuddered. If she noticed, she gave no indication. “I have a matter requiring your attention,” she said, turning her gaze upon Dey. “Show him.”

  Dey scrambled forward, a bloody sack under his arm. Thrusting his hand into the sack, he pulled out a bearded man’s severed head. The eyes were open and staring, the mouth locked in a rictus of pain. An old burn mark covered a portion of the dead man’s right cheek. As Dey held up the head, recognition spread through the Fenyir ranks. “You know this man, then?” Serina asked him.

  “Aye,” Galas said. “All my life. He taught me to fight. Rolf Fork-Beard, leader of my uncle’s herdsmen, as fine a warrior as any Fenyir ever born.” Galas glared at Dey. The fact that Galas had planned to kill Rolf himself was unimportant. Galas had to kill Taios’s house-herd; such things were expected, but he would have done so honorably and quickly. For a man like Rolf to die at the hands of this Hishtari guppy…

  “Rolf Fork-Beard,” Serina repeated. “An all-too-common name among our kind, I’m afraid. Do you know his father’s name?”

  Galas paused, rubbing his chin as he searched his memory. “Gael, I think it was.” He looked to his new first mate, Aegrism—who had filled the position vacated by Galas’s former first mate, Hringol, murdered by Fioni in her attack upon the Rose Palace. Aegrism was a tall, dim man with a pleated black beard and a bald head that was almost completely covered in tattoos of octopus tentacles. Aegrism stared at Galas wordlessly for several moments and then bobbed his head in agreement, mouthing the word “Gael.” “Gael Gods-Man,” said Galas with conviction, remembering him now. “A holy man. Been dead since I were a boy, though.”

  Serina took the head from Dey’s hands. She held it by the hair against her thigh as though it were a sack. “You speak as though death is a barrier.” He said nothing, and she continued. “Sail north. Three leagues, no more. You’ll find your ship grounded atop a sand bar. I’m assuming you can pull it free?”

  How does she know this? “Yes, my queen.”

  She turned away, heading back to the hold. She paused, looking back over her shoulder at Dey. “Bring me one of the prisoners, then leave me.”

  “Yes, my queen,” Dey squeaked, bowing obsequiously.

  Cold sweat coating his skin, Galas continued to pull on the smooth stone black fish around his neck.

  #

  Hours later, Galas looked down upon the moonlit waves before them. Getting the drake-ship ready for sea had taken far longer than it should have, but they were finally sailing north along the coast, as the queen had demanded. Like all Fenyir, he disliked sailing at night, but he knew he’d also dislike having Serina rip his spine from his back.

  “Ship ahead!” the lookout yelled.

  Galas joined the small crowd jostling near the prow platform. He shoved his way past them and leaned out over the prow. Thunder Killer drifted before them. From up here, he could look down upon its empty decks. Aegrism joined him, and they stared wordlessly at one another. “She said it was grounded on a sandbar,” Galas said.

  “Tide’s risen,” answered his new first mate. “Must’ve drifted loose. We should be careful we don’t run aground ourselves.”

  “Aye,” Galas said. “Lower the sail. Bring us alongside.”

  As they drifted closer, Galas saw that Thunder Killer wasn’t deserted after all. The other blood fiend, the young kingdom man called Dilan, stood like a statue, staring up at them. A tremor of fear ran down Galas’s spine. There were thirty men on that ship. What happened to them? Once again, he felt the cold rush of fear presaging Serina’s presence. She glided across the deck toward the prow, Dey scuttling along behind her. Galas dropped onto a knee and lowered his head. Ther
e was a smear of fresh blood across her chin and over her ample cleavage. In her hand, she still held the head of Rolf Fork-Beard. Just for a moment, the head’s open eyes seemed to move on their own, but that had to be a trick of the moonlight. Serina casually tossed the severed head over the hull to fall into the waters below with a splash. “Rise, Yarl Galas,” she said. “We have weighty matters to attend to, it seems.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “Our enemies plot to kill me—me—their queen!”

  The anger in her voice almost loosened his bowels. “They’ll fail, my queen,” he said, his tongue thick in his mouth.

  “Yes, but it would seem they have another Illthori artifact, one I knew nothing about. What else remains hidden to me, I wonder?”

  “Another Illthori artifact?”

  “The Raven’s-Eye, a sunstone. It will permit our enemies to navigate within the fog of the Feral Sea. This Fioni—the Red Wolf—she is full of surprises. But I also sense the foul machinations of Fenya here, once again playing her cosmic game against her brother, Ator—at my expense! She will fail.”

  At the mention of the Dark Shark’s true name, Galas’s eyes darted about as if he expected to see Wodor and the other gods appear and punish them. Clearly, Serina had no qualms about naming the Dark Shark, though. She is his servant. “My queen, they don’t have Serl’s map. You do. How can they—”

  “It seems she also has Serl’s journal detailing his voyage. Now, their visit to the Fist of Wodor makes more sense than simply holding an oath-taking ceremony. They intend to retrace Serl’s voyage fifty years ago to Torin Island.”

  “We’ll need to stop them before they enter the fog. Once they’re within it, we can’t follow.”

  She raised her hand, cutting him off. “Yes, we can. I need no Raven’s-Eye to know where the hated sun is—even when it’s behind fog. My childe and I have an affinity for such things now. And, as you pointed out, I have the map. We’ll find that ship, or we’ll find the island. Either way, I will have my heart back.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Have courage. You are a Fenyir warrior. Besides, our foe thinks the fog will hide them from me—but I have a special surprise for traitors.”

  “And Fioni, my queen?”

  “I have promised her to you, and I keep my word. I only desire the niece of Stron and Sight-Bringer. No one and nothing else matters. But I think you’ll soon find the blood of Serl Raven-Eye to be of little value among the Fenyir. Before I’m done, all the clans will curse his foul name. If you find you no longer want or need this Red Wolf, give her to me. I can always use brave warriors.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  Iron Beard’s hull ground against Thunder Killer’s. Galas leaned over the hull—and then stumbled backward, reeling in horror. A mound of corpses lay near the mast, the sail still partially covering it. Lying atop the mound had been Ullyn Tangle-Beard’s gaunt face, his dead eyes shining.

  “Rejoice, Yarl Galas Gilt-Mane,” Serina said. “I told you your man didn’t betray you.”

  “I… why?”

  “Sacrifice is necessary in war. Out at sea, without a hold to hide from the sun, Dilan couldn’t take any chances.”

  The blood fiend Dilan climbed atop Thunder Killer’s gunwale and then launched himself against Iron Beard’s hull, gripping it with his fingernails as he quickly scaled its side. When he climbed over the gunwale, the crew fell back, scrambling away from him. Dilan rushed forward, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around Serina’s waist.

  She pulled his head in tightly against her bosom, stroking his hair as if he were a babe. “Have the corpses placed in the hold,” she told Galas. “While sacrifice is necessary, waste is not.”

  “Yes...yes, my queen,” Galas stammered.

  “And put a new crew aboard that ship.”

  “I no longer have the men to crew two ships.”

  “Nonsense. Use the Hishtari and the remaining islanders. You’ll only need enough to sail the ship. My childe shall do the rest.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  Chapter 19

  Owen

  Before noon the following morning, Fen Wolf approached the eastern edge of the fog bank marking the boundary of the Feral Sea. Owen leaned over the gunwale, watching the fog with more than a bit of trepidation. The Feral Sea was a place of dark legends, rumored to be the abode of monsters. According to the Fenyir, their gods had once dwelled within it.

  Torin Island, the Gateway to the Gods.

  Wisps of mist danced along the outer edge of the fog bank, like ghostly tendrils. The strong nor’easter wind that had been with them for days had now become a gentle breeze. As they approached the grayness before them, the silence amplified the soft crackling of the sail, the creaking of the ropes, and the splashing of the waves against their hull. The crew stood watching in silence as they drifted closer. Even Ekkie trembled against Fioni’s leg. Owen turned to Lady Danika, standing next to a wide-eyed Gali. “Seems like a dream,” he said.

  “A black dream,” said Gali, trembling like a newborn foal.

  “It’s just fog,” said Fioni. “It can’t hurt us,” she said loudly for the crew. “Serl sailed within this sea, and so shall we.”

  Fen Wolf entered the fog bank, instantly plunging them into a vast, unending grayness so thick that they could only see a hundred feet in any direction. The sun was gone. The air turned suddenly chill, so that the crew could now see their own breath as they muttered nervously.

  “Remember who you are,” Fioni called out loudly. “Remember your parents. The wights are watching us now, have no doubt of that. They will tell the gods if we are brave, and they will tell if we are not. So be brave.”

  Erik Gull-Song placed a hand possessively on her shoulder. “Try it, Fioni.”

  “Aye,” said Kora. “Before it’s too late to turn about and leave again.”

  Fioni drew the bowl-shaped metal shield boss slightly larger than a fist from a pouch attached to her belt. The boss had been painted in the image of a raven’s golden eye. A small hole, the width of a finger, had been bored through the top of the boss. Bolted to its hollow interior was an Illthori sunstone, a golden, opaque glass disk that magnified the sun’s rays. Fioni held the Raven’s-Eye up to her face now and peered through the back of it, slowly turning in place. Lowering the Raven’s-Eye, she beamed at the others. “It works! I see the sun clearly, four and a half hands port of the sternpost.”

  “Ha!” barked Kora. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

  “We’ll keep the same course for two hundred ells,” Fioni said, beaming at the crew. When her gaze fell on Owen, her smile vanished. “After that, we’ll tack north.”

  Gali stared at her with wide eyes. “You know where you are—in this blanket of sky?”

  Fioni gripped Gali’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Not exactly, but I know where we were when we entered the fog bank. I know that at this time of the year, at this latitude, the sun will be almost due south at midday. And Serl left detailed notes in his journal, so I know which course he took fifty years ago. With that, I can make a reasonable estimation of our own route.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Gali. “How can you follow writings in a book?”

  “Even at sea,” said Fioni, “there are signposts, clear indications if one knows what to look for: the direction and strength of currents, waves, and wind; the flight of sea birds; black fish breeding grounds; even the cloud formations and stars in the night sky. All of these signs are like landmarks to us Fenyir.”

  “And you can follow these signs?” Owen asked.

  “Better than you could track on land, I’d wager. At any rate, you’d better hope I’m a more skilled navigator than you are a tactician.”

  “But in this fog,” interjected Lady Danika, “how many of those signs can you find?”

  Fioni bit her upper lip. “Not as many as I’d prefer, admittedly. But with the Raven’s-Eye, I can at least determine direction.”

  �
�But not at night,” said Owen. “You can’t see the sun at night?”

  “No, Owen,” said Fioni, glaring at him now. “I can’t see the sun at night. Can you?”

  Lady Danika stepped in front of Owen. “We don’t doubt you, Fioni. It’s just...”

  “I know. I wish I had the map Serl left behind, but Kalishni’coor destroyed it. I can’t change that. I’ve studied Serl’s journal, and I think we have a chance, maybe even a good one, of retracing his voyage. All we need do is find the Godswall.”

  “What is Godswall?” asked Gali.

  “Yes, what?” asked Lady Danika.

  Fioni approached her sea chest, rummaged through it for a moment, and then came back with the battered journal of her great-grandfather. “According to our legends—and confirmed by Serl’s journal—Torin Island is surrounded by a vast ring of cliffs called the Godswall.” She thumbed through the journal, finding a specific page with a drawing of an island upon it. A ring of cliffs circled the island.

  Owen leaned over Lady Danika’s shoulder, peering at the map. “There’s a gap along the southern part of the ring,” he noted. “It looks like… teeth.”

  “The Mouth of the Gods,” said Fioni, “the only way through the Godswall.”

  “Fioni,” said Kora, before anyone could say anything else. “The wind...”

  Owen stared at her for a moment and then realized the sea was now utterly still and silent. The sail hung limp. Even the ocean’s surface was calm and unmoving.

  “Fenya’s tits,” said Fioni. “We’re becalmed.”

  Chapter 20

  Owen

  Owen lay on a rowing bench, his head propped up against the hull as he watched Fioni use the Raven’s-Eye for what seemed like the hundredth time. Nearby, Kora leaned back against the gunwale, watching Fioni as well. They had been drifting all day now on the still waters of the Feral Sea, shrouded in fog. He guessed it must be late afternoon. Fioni lowered the Raven’s-Eye, a worried frown on her face.

  “Well?” he asked.