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

by William Stacey

  Without another word, Kora led the crew past the switchback and on toward the mountain’s summit. Lady Danika waited with him, watching him. Fioni led three of the Windhelm volunteers up the steep slope, pulling themselves up by grasping clumps of weeds and bushes. Erik tilted his head as he watched Owen. “It isn’t too late to change your mind, you know. Stay with her.”

  “I… I can’t,” Owen answered, his voice thick. “Don’t… don’t let Galas…”

  “Don’t worry, Northman. If it comes to that, I’ll do it myself. Besides, maybe we’ll slip away after all before they reach us. I’m a fair woodsman myself, you know.”

  Owen smiled despite the loss shuddering through him. “I know you are. Erik... I was wrong about you.”

  Erik flashed his white teeth at him. “So many are. Don’t fret. We’ll get drunk together in Nifalgen. You’ll see. You may only be a kingdom-man, but Orkinus is wise. He’ll make an exception for you and let you into his watery realm.” He turned away, his crossbow over his shoulder, and began to climb after the others.

  Owen remained in place, feeling his world spinning away from him. Duty is a double-edged sword blade.

  “We have to go,” Lady Danika said sadly.

  “Aye,” he whispered, turning away and following her up the mountain.

  Chapter 35

  Kory’ander Dey

  Kory’ander Dey paced ceaselessly as the Fenyir tracker examined the forest floor. What foolishness! Even he, a pureblood Hishtari prince, saw the clear boot prints of dozens of people, the broken trail that led through the steeply sloped ravine along the mountainside. “Well?” he snapped, his irritation mounting.

  The tracker, an ugly, gaunt man with a thick, hairy mole on his cheek, glanced at Dey from beneath hooded eyes before turning his attention back to his task. Dey’s body trembled in rage. With barely an effort, he could break that cretin’s neck. Ancestors, I could pull his ugly head from his body! Instead, he turned away, fighting down his rage. This trail was obvious now, but it might not always be so. His men were soldiers, not woodsmen. Had he had a real tracker days ago, he’d not have fallen for the Red Wolf’s firetrap. That failure had fueled Serina’s anger toward him, clouding her judgment, turning her against him. No, I need this dog… for now.

  “Answer him,” Galas Gilt-Mane, standing nearby, ordered.

  “The trail is clear,” said the tracker, speaking to Galas. “They continue up the mountain.”

  “How far?” asked Galas.

  “Not far.” The tracker pinched some dirt between his fingers, leaving a dirty residue. He smelled his fingertips. “Blood.”

  Galas smirked. “She keeps her wounded with her, slowing down everyone. Fioni is as weak as I always suspected. This is why women shouldn’t command ships.”

  Dey stamped a boot in the ground, immediately regretting having done so and now appearing like a spoiled child. “When? When will we catch them?”

  The tracker peered up at the sun through the branches overhead. “Before nightfall, maybe sooner.”

  “We’ll do better than that,” said Dey, motioning toward his new captain, a tall, broad-shouldered, and thick-nosed man who, while he didn’t come from a noble family, understood his place better than the last captain. Dey laid out his plan. “The trail is clear, so my men and I will move forward on our own. My men are soldiers, not sailors. We’re much faster than you are. We’ll run them into the ground.”

  Galas stared at his hands, his expression properly subservient. “If you think that would be best.”

  Dey beamed, now knowing his lesson to Galas had worked. The trick in handling any dog, he knew, is teaching it to fear its master. He turned to his men, two dozen brave Hishtari soldiers. They’d be outnumbered, but the enemy was already on the run. With his gifts, they’d be more than enough to strike the Red Wolf’s unguarded rear. If his ancestors were watching, as he was sure they must be, he might even capture the Dain woman amidst all the confusion. Once he had her, he could pull back and let the Fenyir slaughter each other, as befitted such base people. Dey turned to his new captain. “We’ll move forward on the run. If we’re fast, we can come up on them before they can raise the alarm. Take only the Dain woman or the Red Wolf prisoner.”

  The man’s thick peasant face took on a pale cast, but he bobbed his head in understanding. “Yes, Moon Lord.”

  Dey drew his scimitar and began an easy lope along the trail. Behind him scurried his men, their weapons and armor jingling. Soon, he heard their ragged breathing and smiled. Days ago, that red-haired Fenyir bitch Fioni Ice-Bound had thrown a spear through his leg, but now, he was faster and more agile than soldiers were. Angry with him, the queen had humiliated him. But if he pleased her, gave her the Dain woman and the sword, she’d be certain to reward him.

  Will she make me like her, he wondered, immortal?

  He increased his pace.

  Chapter 36

  Danika

  Danika struggled near the rear of the column that slowly crawled up the twisting mountain pass. Owen remained behind with her, stopping every few minutes to watch and listen to the trail behind them. Gasping, she paused to lean over her knees and catch her breath, watching him out of the corner of her eye, recognizing the guilt that washed over her. Why does he serve me? Is it his oath or duty, or am I using him? It isn’t affection—not for me. That much I do see. Nor does he do it just for personal gain. Maybe at first, but not now. I’m certain of that. Her father had been wrong to sentence him to service as a guardsman. It had been one more example of the kingdom’s at times unjust laws. Owen defends his sister from his bully of an older brother—and for this—he’s guilty of a crime?

  And we call the Fenyir barbarians.

  Watching Owen pace, his hands clenching into fists, listening for the sounds of battle that would herald the death of Fioni, she suddenly understood what she had to do, what she should have done weeks ago.

  “Owen,” she said softly.

  Turning, he glanced at her and then at the others already far ahead. “My lady, we should catch up before—”

  “I’m sorry, Owen. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think I had any other choice, but the truth is… I was afraid, too frightened to do this alone. It was wrong of me. Thank you for my life. Thank you for everything.”

  Owen’s face was crestfallen, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, staring down at her with tired eyes. “My lady, we can’t stay here. At best, Fioni and Erik can only delay Galas.”

  She pulled one of his hands from her shoulder and gripped it between hers, marveling at the roughness of his skin. A warrior’s hands… just like Brice’s. “Listen to me carefully, Owen. Brice was right when he compared duty to a double-edged sword. Duty stopped me from running away with my lover when I had a chance. I did my duty, but my brother still died, as did Brice. I had no choice… but you do.”

  He shook his head. “Duty binds us all. I promise you, I will see you safely home.”

  Reaching up with one hand, she cupped his bearded chin. “You’re a good man, Owen Toscovar.”

  “My lady…”

  “I, Danika Dain, last surviving member of House Dain, Guardians of Wolfrey, Lions of the North, release you from your oath of service.”

  His eyes narrowed. “My lady, I don’t—”

  “I’m not your lady anymore, Owen.”

  “This is madness.”

  “Brice was right about the cost of duty, but he missed an important part of it: duty must also be about choice. Fioni, Erik, Rolf… all the others chose their own path, but I took that choice from you.”

  “No,” he whispered. “I chose to fight Orin. I didn’t need to break his leg. I was angry, and I went too far. I see that now.”

  She kissed his knuckles. “You are free, Owen Toscovar. Free to set your own course in this world.”

  “My place is with you, my lady.”

  Chapter 37

  Fioni

  Fioni and the others had been in place, hiding behind rocks alo
ng the slope’s summit, when they heard the sounds of snapping tree branches in the woods below. Owen’s tactical sense had been sound, and from here, they had an unobstructed view of the narrow gap, the deadfall containing the nell spider nest wedged against the rocks on the opposite side of the ravine, and the switchback just past the rocks leading farther up the mountain. The slope had been difficult enough just to get up here. It would be murder when she and the others were shooting crossbow bolts and heaving stones down upon those trying to scale it.

  The one thing Owen had been dead wrong about, however, was his suggestion that they could retreat down the other side of the slope. There was no other side, just a dead drop of at least a hundred feet overlooking a pine-tree-filled ravine cut into the mountain’s roots. While Owen might have been able to scale it, there was no way they could. When they had first looked down upon it, Fioni had joked about having “run enough from Galas for one lifetime,” and they had all shared a laugh, but in truth, it was no joke: the time for running was over.

  The sounds of breaking branches grew in volume, and she pushed the stock of her crossbow tighter into her shoulder. Galas and his men aren’t even trying to be stealthy. Good. Keep coming, you kin-murdering bastard. She thought of her father then and smiled in memory of him. They had fought far too much after her mother and brother had died at sea, but she was certain he’d forgive her. We can get drunk together in Nifalgen, you old walrus. I’ll tell you then how sorry I am, how much I loved you.

  Maybe Vory will be there too.

  That thought filled her with warmth.

  “Be ready,” Erik said softly. “Make every bolt count.”

  Her six bolts lay wedged against her knee. She’d take her time. There’d be little reason to hurry. After the bolts were gone… well, they’d run out of rocks long before they ran out of enemies. She regretted arguing with Kora—especially over a man. Kora had been right; she had been behaving like a lovestruck girl, jealous of the noblewoman and Owen’s loyalty to her. Of course Owen had chosen duty over her. And why not? she mused. It wasn’t as if we were long-time lovers. In truth, you barely know the man, Fioni. You lay together only one night. She wiped the sweat from her eyes, smiling at the memory of a naked Owen. It was a good night, though.

  “Here they come,” said Erik, snapping her attention back.

  Time’s up, she realized. Her heartbeat hammered beneath her ring-mail coat, and she took long, deep breaths. She met Erik’s eyes. “Your father, Yarl Vengir, would be proud of you, Erik Gull-Song.”

  “And yours as well, Fioni Ice-Bound.”

  Then they saw the first of their pursuers break from the woods: Hishtari soldiers in brightly colored gambesons, their animal masks hanging around their necks. Her eyes narrowed in confusion. Where are Galas’s men? Then, in disbelief, she saw Kory’ander Dey running along with them, more than twenty Hishtari soldiers moving in a disorganized clump, with stragglers in the rear struggling to keep up. Dey ran with a scimitar in hand, its naked blade flashing in the sun. Not Galas, but he’ll do. She took aim upon his chest. “Wait until I shoot.”

  “What a yarl you’d have made, Fioni,” Erik softly said. “Die well.”

  Her throat tightened, and she swallowed, focusing on Dey.

  Faster than the others, Dey reached the switchback before the deadfall first. He stopped there, staring up the trail the others had taken, waiting for his men to catch up. She aimed at his back, right between the shoulder blades. The distance was far but not too far, perhaps a hundred paces. She squeezed the trigger lever, and the weapon jumped in her grip as the limbs snapped forward. The shot was good, but at the last moment, a Hishtari soldier stepped in front of Dey, spinning about like a child’s toy before crashing into Dey and knocking him down.

  Damn it!

  Erik and the others released their own missiles, sending more Hishtari soldiers reeling. Screams of pain drifted up to them, and the Hishtari soldiers looked about wildly in all directions, panic on their faces. Fioni reloaded and tried to find Dey again, but in the press of bodies, she couldn’t discern him, so she shot at the confused mass, feeling immense satisfaction at the sight of a head turning into a bright-red spray of blood and gristle. She reloaded. The survivors ran for cover, understanding they were under attack. They still didn’t know where the missiles were coming from, and some hid on the wrong side of trees. Fioni pinned one such soldier to a trunk, his legs dangling beneath him. She reloaded. This time, one of the Hishtari soldiers must have seen her, because he began screaming and pointing at her. “Tattletale,” she said as she put a bolt into his gut, sending him flying backward as though kicked by a horse. She reloaded, feeling very satisfied. “That’s for my ship.”

  A handful of the soldiers dashed out from behind cover and ran screaming at the slope, led by Dey himself. Fioni loosed a bolt at him, but he somehow slipped out of the way. She reloaded as Dey hit the slope and, impossibly, seemed to scurry up it like a barracuda going for something shiny. She shot at him again, and again he dodged out of the way. She gaped in disbelief. Erik loosed a bolt at the Hishtari Moon Lord, now only paces away, but Dey’s scimitar flashed, cutting the bolt apart in a shower of wooden chips. No one is that fast. Dey’s face was a mask of rage as he fell upon Erik. She grasped for another bolt, only to find they were all gone. Dropping her crossbow, she drew Wave’s Kiss, but she was far too late. Dey’s scimitar swept up and down, cutting Erik in half from skull to groin.

  She screamed in rage as she attacked, but he was already turning, catching her blade on his and pushing it to the side. Before she could react, he elbowed her in the jaw, sending her reeling to the ground. She tried to rise and fell, and then managed to reach her knees as the last three Windhelm warriors converged on Dey all at once with their Wolfrey swords. Dey skewered the closest through the throat—a perfect thrust! Then he pivoted away while taking another man’s arm off at the elbow. His reverse cut opened the wounded warrior’s throat. Blood sprayed Dey, covering his upper body. The remaining Hishtari warriors were fleeing back the way they had come, perhaps not realizing their master was winning. Dey’s scimitar flashed down on his last opponent, shattering both his scimitar and the Wolfrey sword the man had been using to block, before its jagged remains ripped the man’s chest and stomach open, spilling his intestines.

  She stared openmouthed at the Hishtari prince, who had just slaughtered four warriors in moments. She staggered upright, intent on dying on her feet, her sword held before her with both hands. Dey raised a single mocking eyebrow and then swept in, ripping the sword from her hands and once again slamming her to her back. He stood over her now, her own sword at her throat, blood dripping off his chin. “She has plans for you, you stupid bitch.”

  “What… how?” she mumbled.

  “But I only need to leave you alive, not all in one piece.” His face twisted into a mask of rage as he dropped down, ramming his knee into her solar plexus, knocking the air from her lungs. She gasped in agony, unable to do more than make mewling noises as he stepped on her ankle, holding her leg in place, and readied her own sword to cut down at her. “You stabbed me in the leg. Me, the Moon Lord of Daenipor! I’ll give you to the queen, but you don’t need your feet.”

  He cackled like a madman—and she realized he probably was. “You… weren’t… Moon Lord,” she gasped. “Just… puppet.”

  He cocked his head, leering at her. “I like your sword.” He held the hilt up to his eye. “Why is the gem glowing?”

  “It’s a pearl, actually,” said Owen from behind him.

  Dey turned just as Owen threw the glowing nell spider egg he had carried up the slope. It shattered against Dey’s chest, covering him with shards of white crystalline and slimy ichor. Dey staggered back, releasing Fioni. He stood shaking with rage before Owen, yellow goo dripping off his chin. “How dare—”

  He froze, his mouth hanging open, as dozens of baby nell spiders scurried over him. Dey screamed as they began to bite him. He dropped Fioni’s sword and began s
lapping wildly at the spiders. Some he crushed against his skin, leaving a gory smear, but others darted under the collar of his gambeson and ran down his back. Frantic, Dey tried to pull his gambeson over his head, but as he did, Owen surged forward and kicked him in the small of his back, sending him flying down the incline. As he tumbled head over feet, his screams grew dimmer.

  Then Owen was pulling her to her feet. She grasped at his arm as he bent down and picked up her sword. “Why?” she whispered. “Why did you come back?”

  Shaking his head, Owen slid her sword into her scabbard before pulling her against him. “Why do you think I came back, you damned frustrating woman?”

  “But… your oath?” she whispered, staring wide eyed at him.

  He kissed her, crushing her lips against his.

  She pulled away just as Galas and a small army of warriors emerged from the trees below. They began to climb the slope, murder in their eyes. Owen gripped her hand, pulled her along with him as he ran to the cliff behind them. “Do you remember the Rose Palace, when I asked you to trust me? I need you to trust me again.”

  “I remember I fell.”

  His eyes shone with amusement, and he cocked his head, raising a single blond eyebrow.

  He thinks this is funny—and he calls me frustrating.

  “Fioni, do you trust me?”

  Breathless, still in a state of disbelief, she squeezed his hand. “With my life.”

  He ran for the cliff. Without hesitation, she jumped with him, and they both flew out into empty air. She felt a momentary wave of weightlessness as the treetops rushed toward her.

  Chapter 38

  Galas

  Galas peered over the cliff, staring down upon the pine trees below. Fioni had chosen death over capture. In truth, he really didn’t blame her. “Farewell, cousin,” he said softly, turning away.