“Exactly my point, Gem,” Lord Grey said. They weren’t precisely on a first-name basis, for the skull had never given her another name to call him by, but they were by now fairly comfortable with one another’s company.
The necromancer continued, “Your illusion is excellent, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you adding in a shaving cut here and missed stubble there! But he’s at least a full inch taller than when he boarded and while that’s unlikely to be noticed in and of itself, in three more months it’s bound to occur to one of the crew that he’s growing.
“I have to say, Gem, that I’m very glad you didn’t take me up on my offer,” he said, changing tack slightly. “I had no idea at the time that you could maintain such a complex illusion, with the myriad little details you have to keep up with, for this long. I’d never have suggested aging him if I had known how skilled you are.” The necromancer had offered to use black magic to prematurely age the prince a decade in order to help him disguise who he was. That approach had a number of down sides—not least, shortening Alan’s lifespan by ten years or more—and in the end, he’d rejected it.
Gem demurred. “It wasn’t a bad suggestion, but then you don’t make bad suggestions, do you, my Lord Skull? Dangerous ones, dark ones, yes, but never bad.”
Lord Grey sighed, though they both knew that was pure affectation on the disembodied skull’s part. “I wish that were so, my Lady Sword,” he replied, his tone at once wistful and mildly flirtatious as he returned the honorific she’d bestowed on him. “I am quite capable of making mistakes, I assure you; I’ve just had more experience making it look like they were part of the plan all along.”
Gem chuckled. “Alan’s decided to leave the ship as soon as we make port in a southern harbor, but I think we can convince him to leave sooner if Searcher is delayed in northern waters for long. After all, we can buy passage many times over, just from the proceeds from selling Beliu. Nan certainly earned her fifth-part share.” The skirmish-trained horse had been a gift from the Vampire King of Greythorn, Kolos Agathi, and it had pained Alan to part with him, but there was no place for such a beast on a warship.
Gem didn’t think that the horses were originally intended to be a monetary gift from the being they’d initially known as Saul, a simple woodsman dwelling in the ruins of Greythorn City, though the vampire had known they intended to find ocean passage off the continent. She assumed the ancient being had simply anticipated that the prince would pay to ship the horse—along with the pony he’d provided for Snog to ride—wherever they were bound.
The demonstration of Beliu’s capabilities and training that Nanavi had given in Seagate had also demonstrated her mastery of horsemanship, for she’d challenged the High King’s knights to a riding contest and then proceeded to outclass them from the bay’s back. She’d gotten the Seagate warriors bidding against each other and driving themselves straight into her merciless hands. Alan and the three mercenaries who’d accompanied them up to the fields above the Noble’s Tier to see what Nan could do with the horse had been as awestruck as the others who stood around to watch the impromptu competition and the bout of haggling that had resulted.
Nan had outdone herself, walking away from the day with thirty-six gold crowns and five shillings. Her share, as Alan had noted the day they’d met, was generous for a horse she didn’t own: seven crowns and the five silver coins, not a bad day’s work in any profession. Alan had been so impressed with her performance (and been more than a little infatuated with her at the time) that he’d bought a silver hip flask on the Merchant’s Tier for her, filled with strong pear brandy. He’d picked that particular brandy not because he knew the variety or liked the taste, but because he knew his mother the Queen had liked it.
Gem was certain that Nan would have bedded Alan that very night if Olaf had been a day later coming aboard Searcher, for she’d liked the flask and its contents quite well, indeed. But the moment the tall, scarred mate had come up the gangplank, it was as if bedding Alan had never even crossed her mind.
“True enough,” Lord Grey agreed. “Paid passage on a merchant ship can have its own problems, especially further away from the Islander and Dunshor navies, but it’s better than remaining with the mercenaries.” The necromancer meant piracy, which wasn’t so common in the Island Kingdoms, at least in these latter years when the Islanders weren’t often the pirates themselves.
“I wish you or I had thought of the fact that he’s still growing in Seagate,” Gem said, changing the subject back to the prince’s appearance. “He’s tall enough to pass for a man, but men his apparent age don’t grow like weeds, and he’s doing so. We could have had his clothes tailored such that he could easily let them out as he grew, if we’d considered it.”
“Indeed,” the skull agreed. “I’ll wager he’ll top eightspan in a few years, maybe more.”
Gem didn’t reply for a few moments. “You speak Dunshorian so well, I forget how old you must be, Lord Grey.”
“In what way?” The skull’s tone was suddenly cautious.
Gem answered, “Dunshor hasn’t used the unit of a span for over five hundred years, if I remember Alan’s lessons right. I’m not prying into your past; I was just taken aback by the thought of how long you’ve been trapped in there.” A span was nine inches, roughly the span of a man’s hand with fingers outstretched.
“Ah,” the skull replied, surprise evident in his tone. “My thanks, Gem. Although such a gaffe on my part would probably be unimportant, if a touch quaint, it still might be a problem someday. One must think in the long term when one is bound into a nearly invulnerable object, is that not so?”
“It is something I have had occasion to consider,” Gem admitted. “His mother made me to serve the line, not just Alan. How is it that you speak colloquial Dunshorian, at least in the main?”
Lord Grey took his turn to remain silent for a few moments before answering. “It matters not that you know. In the scrying chamber, I could hear words from all over Firavon’s Tower. I was in a position to eavesdrop on many of the mages’ plots and schemes, although it was tremendously frustrating not to be able to fine-tune the listening devices or to change the places where they were aimed.”
Gem was amazed and said so. “I hadn’t realized the tubes brought sound from more than one place at a time.”
His senses are even keener than I believed, she thought, and wondered what his limitations were.
“Oh yes,” he replied. “Dozens of different tubes bring sound to the chamber, although quite frankly, after the rebellion it was pretty damned boring. I’ve learned to listen to everything going on around me, since my senses bring me information in a way quite different from when I was alive.
“At first, that was quite maddening, but alas, madness was denied me as part of the binding.” The skull’s tone was flat, but Gem still had the impression that he was clenching his teeth.
I must always remember he’s had centuries to hone his acting skills, Gem cautioned herself. She’d listened to all of Elowyn’s lessons just as carefully as the prince had, and while she’d discovered in the recent months that Alan was far more subtle and, for lack of a better word, devious than she was, she had still benefitted from the dark-haired assassin’s cunning and conniving ways.
Like Alan, she knew that the best lies were well seeded with the truth, and every time Lord Grey revealed something from his past, especially something painful—or seemingly painful, she thought—Gem believed he was working toward the goal of getting her, Alan, and perhaps even Snog, to trust him. The degree to which Alan did appear to trust the necromancer was another source of her worries.
Changing the subject, she asked, “Have you figured out what the rib bone’s for? I can’t see what use it would be.”
Lyrial, a necromancer who had fought them outside of Greythorn City, had carried the majority of his treasures with him. By far the most valuable part was the lashthirin ingots that Alan had carefully sewed into the lining of his pack, but some o
f the spoils had been enchanted. The lizard’s egg had been, as Gem had suspected from the first, a type of philosopher’s stone which the necromancer had used to call the Truesilver out of the raw silver ore. She wondered what he’d done with the resulting Blacksilver, an unavoidable and noxious residue, for it hadn’t been in evidence.
A vial of a black oily liquid had been an elixir to transform the imbiber into a ravening wolf shape, and Alan had poured it over a pile of salt, as per Lord Grey’s instruction, to neutralize it, for there was no way back to human shape after drinking it. Lord Grey had surmised Lyrial had some spell of control over such a beast, and that he’d have eventually made one of the goblins he’d enslaved drink it.
“That, or maybe force it down some villager’s throat and leave town before the transformation’s complete,” Alan had said at the time. “He seemed the sort to enjoy watching the misery such a thing would cause.”
No one had disagreed with Alan’s assessment of the contemptible man.
The second vial Lyrial’s pack had produced was a thin, watery green liquid that glowed softly. Lord Grey had determined that it was curative for disease, and a very potent one for that matter. “Lyrial didn’t make this, I’d be willing to bet,” Lord Grey had pronounced, then added, “but perhaps I misjudged the bastard’s skill level.” Gem hadn’t been happy when Alan had decided to keep it, but she’d spent some time examining the enchantments on the potion herself and couldn’t see anything harmful in its magic.
After the battle at Greythorn City, Lord Grey had asked Alan to carry Lyrial’s two heavy spellbooks in his saddlebags so that he could peruse them (with someone’s help to turn the pages) and glean anything useful they might contain about sorcery. Alan and Snog had smuggled the books aboard in their baggage and locked them in the footlocker at the base of Snog’s bunk, which Lord Grey had enspelled to open only for Snog and Alan. Snog, who among other things was a failed shaman’s apprentice, was prepared to claim the spell was his if anyone had tried the locker and couldn’t open it, but no one had disturbed it.
The two living beings had taken turns turning the pages for the skull, but less than a week after they’d put out from Seagate Lord Grey had pronounced them of no further use. Snog had managed to slip them both overboard without being seen. Covered with heavy leather bindings embedded with heavy but intricate metal filigree, the books would never come back up. Alan and Gem would have preferred to burn them, but drowning them forever in the sea was an acceptable second choice.
But that left the final object, a small enchanted rib bone.
Gem was by nature a realist, not given to flights of fancy or bouts of blind optimism. Still, she wished fervently that Lord Grey’s initial identification of the rib bone had been in error, that it was not, in fact, the rib bone of an infant. Sadly, that appeared to be exactly what it was, although even Lord Grey couldn’t tell if it was from a girl or boy.
Lord Grey said, “I finished my analysis last night. Although it isn’t very powerful, it’s a particularly dark item, and I wanted to be absolutely certain there weren’t hidden enchantments bound within the more obvious ones. As it requires both magical talent and hands to employ, it isn’t particularly useful to us at the moment, but it could be in the right set of circumstances. It remains to be seen if Alan wants to destroy it or keep it against possible future need.
“It’s a dowsing tool for finding unconsecrated dead,” Lord Grey explained. “It’s also an example of why Lyrial is dead and Alan and Snog are alive, because a necromancer worth the appellation wouldn’t need such a thing.”
“He murdered that child to create it, didn’t he?” Gem asked sadly. She could not have children, of course, but she loved them—especially her/Adrienne’s children—fiercely.
The skull answered gently, all trace of his previous teasing gone from his tone. “Yes, he did, and worse besides. There’s residue from the mother and father’s souls in the magic, as well, and possibly a sibling. It’s not much more of their souls than the animae that would have remained within their corpses if he’d raised them as zombies, so it wasn’t as unclean a death as it might have been, but it was undoubtedly a terrible fate.”
Gem did not easily feel horror, but even within her steel she felt chilled. “He murdered a whole family to make that thing,” she whispered, not wanting to believe it, but knowing the skull spoke the truth. “Death was too quick for him.”
“I know you may not believe me, Gem, but I agree with you. The worst excesses of the Theocracy, of course, make even this crime seem negligible, but every life is precious in its way, and I believe that Lyrial is damned for this if for nothing else that he did.”
Gem said, “That’s an odd attitude for a necromancer, Lord Grey.” Her tone was almost accusatory, for her anger was somewhat roused by the revelation about the bone.
“I know that it is,” the ancient being replied.
“As I’ve said before, I’m well aware of what I look like and what the color of my magic is,” he continued after a moment. “I can only ask that you believe me when I tell you that I do not revel in dark deeds, and that I regret when evil like this is visited upon the innocent. That Lyrial did so because his magical or musical talent wasn’t up to the task makes it all the more tragic; it was such a waste.” Lord Grey’s voice was cold, matching Gem’s anger with icy malice.
“Let us then make it less of one,” Gem said. “Assuming it doesn’t represent any danger to Alan, I’ll recommend we keep it.”
“Keep it?” Lord Grey asked, surprised.
“Yes,” Gem said firmly. “Perhaps we will draw a lesser necromancer to our cause one day, one to whom such a tool would be of use. I don’t like the idea of anyone in my boy’s service raising the dead, mind you, but as the elf would have told him, any weapon can be used for good or evil.”
“More than one reason exists for finding unblessed dead,” Lord Grey said, his tone thoughtful.
“Oh?” Gem tried to keep her instant suspicion out of her voice and wasn’t at all certain she’d succeeded.
“Once you find them, you can consecrate the graves and keep them from rising,” the skull said, either missing or ignoring her suspicion. “Any priest of Rula Golden or Damar should know the appropriate rituals.”
Had Gem eyes, she would have blinked in surprise. “You continue to surprise me, Lord Grey.”
“And you, me, Lady Gem,” he said with a touch of his old humor returning. “I would have expected you to recommend that Alan destroy the thing.”
“Heh,” she snorted in brief humor. “Actually, as awful as the creation of that thing was, it was less horrific than I’d imagined, and although I agree with you that it was a terrible—I’d go so far as to say obscene—waste, now it’s simply a tool. My blade can be used to spill innocent blood just as easily as a ghoul’s claws, after all.
“But let’s change the subject, shall we?” she said quietly.
“Very well, Gem,” the necromancer replied. “I think we should reexamine our plans for the upcoming battle and what our respective thresholds for intervention might be.” They’d agreed that if the situation were desperate enough, Lord Grey would put his spellcasting weight into the battle. Gem’s use of magic would be tantamount to announcing to the world that Prince Lian was on Searcher, last seen at Gaelin Island.
“I can’t cast spells,” Gem said, “nor can I unweave incoming magic.”
“I don’t agree,” Lord Grey said. “I certainly think you should weigh carefully doing so given the situation, but if it’s a choice between Alan dying now and worrying about an assassin or bounty hunter killing him later, it’s no choice at all.”
“If something threatens him that closely, I probably won’t have time to cast anything, and you, by that time, should be casting defensive magic, no?”
“No,” he said, to Gem’s surprise. “I’ve considered that, but then rejected it. If I’m forced to reveal my presence and capabilities, I need to be casting offensive magics on our enem
ies to end the threat as quickly as possible.
“Oh, I’ll shield him if I can from an attack,” he said, and she could almost imagine his hand waving off the idea he’d do otherwise like a buzzing insect. “But the thing that will demand my intervention the most will be an enemy Masterclass sorcerer. If I’m to bring such a one down before he can strike down Alan or, perhaps worse, escape, I can’t spare any attention to his defense.
“That must needs fall to you,” he continued. “And so it is necessary that my threshold for involvement be higher than we had discussed with Alan. If I’m casting spells, it’s a good bet you will need to soon after, at least to unweave hostile enchantments.”
“I can’t fault your reasoning,” Gem said. “But if I must do so, there will be consequences.”
“This logic changes, of course, if Reidar is on board, or maybe even the healer, weak though she may be,” Lord Grey said. “If Alan can rely upon them to shield him, then I am free to concentrate on malefactions.
“Really, we need to find a nice-sized city somewhere and hole up for a few months,” the skull continued. “If we can, then both you and I can weave some defensive magic that Alan and Snog can employ without our having to sing.”
“Let us both pray we have that kind of time to lay low, then,” Gem said.
Lord Grey didn’t respond and the two fell silent, both lost in their own thoughts, Gem considering the necromancer’s advice in regard to the upcoming battle. Whether she liked the idea or not, he had made very valid points, and she’d discuss them in the morning with her prince.
Chapter Five
“Krysa’s philosophy of white magic and civic responsibility was instilled into his students from the very inception of his academy, and so it was that for more than a century, the nascent nation of Dun Shire was known for justice and peace.
“But as the seasons and moons teach us, everything changes, and the lure of magical power began to create in Krysa’s school a faction that didn’t hold to Krysa’s restrictions on the uses of magic. At first, it was only the lightest of gray magics, of course.
By Blood Hunted: Kingsblood Chronicles Part Two (The Kingsblood Chronicles Book 2) Page 6
