By Blood Hunted: Kingsblood Chronicles Part Two (The Kingsblood Chronicles Book 2)

by David J. Houpt

  Tonight was the night that Dalshana left Lushran’s arms and began circling Tieran in the inner loop of its cycle, and the crew was making preparations for the ritual prayer to keep her influence at bay. Alan and Snog would participate when the time came, for no one wanted to attract the evil goddess’ eye and tempt her ire.

  For now, daylight still streamed through the low clouds on the horizon, and there was nothing to do but wait. The ship’s other two passengers still spent most of their time in their bunks, wracked with seasickness, and Alan felt sorry for them. Snog had learned a few folk remedies from the Searcher’s crew, but they were no more effective than the ones the merchantman’s crew knew, so the goblin hadn’t volunteered them. Alan wondered, not for the first time, why Snog’s mushroom-scented tobacco could relieve a hangover’s ill effects but held no power over seasickness; the goblin himself didn’t know the answer.

  He heard the door to the forward passageway open and glanced down from the foredeck to see the younger of the two, Olivia del Quivell, make her way unsteadily onto the main deck. She was perhaps in her mid-twenties and quite shapely, the daughter of the elder Quivell, who was still abed in their cabin. Alan was rather interested in her lovely curves, for he found that his perception of women was quite different since leaving Avethiel. He hadn’t looked forward to seeking out a woman of the evening, and it had been nearly as embarrassing as he’d feared it would be. To his good fortune, he could follow his licentious quest in the elven trade city, and that fact offered an opportunity he’d not have had in a human town.

  The elven brothel was in the service of Vedelta in her aspect of Shianalieli, the elven goddess of love and beauty, and its priests offered the gift of physical love to those who came in peace, with respect, and with appropriate gifts in exchange. It was an expensive place, but because all of the adherents, priests, and priestesses were elven, his worries about conception were immaterial. Elves and humans could no more interbreed than goblins and humans, which was to say not at all.

  The Shian priestess Alidalissaral had accepted his gift—one of the pearls he’d carried since the night of his escape—seeing that it held personal significance to him as well as its intrinsic value. This elevated his gift from mere money to a sacred offering. Saral, as she told him to call her, took his missteps and fumbling in stride, teaching him what to do and what not to do gently and with compassion, never with derision. The dark-haired Silei’s long and slender form had gleamed in the pale moonlight, in stark contrast to his darkly tanned features, and he had felt honored in her presence.

  That the prince had shown her all the respect due her holy calling—something most human men did not, assuming that the Shiani were just another flavor of whore—had been very well received, and she had done all she could to make him comfortable and confident during that long, pleasurable night. Her long dark hair had smelled of lilacs and lavender, and her almond-shaped eyes had gleamed in the shadowed room as she moved with him in their union, her soft skin delightful to his senses. It had been an unforgettable evening.

  He found himself comparing the very-human curves of the merchant’s daughter to the almost boyish frame of the beautiful priestess, but chided himself, Mother raised you better than that, Alan. He broke his gaze and shook himself into motion.

  “Lady, do you well?” he inquired as he strode down to the main deck, offering her his arm and helping her to the railing.

  “I’ve read it’s better to watch the horizon,” she replied gratefully in her hoarse, somewhat raspy voice. “And I’m more than tired of that cabin, so I thought I’d give it a try.” She gave him a weak smile.

  “There’s truth in what you’ve read, Lady del Quivell,” Alan said, “but you should come to the fo’c’sle deck’s rail so you can have a better view of it.” He led her up the stairs, knowing the fresh air and a frame of reference for the ship’s motion were probably already helping her. Getting some height on the waves would allow her to see the horizon and be even more effective in countering the seasickness.

  “My thanks, Alan,” she replied, having learned his name from the crewmen who’d brought her the thin broth she’d managed to keep down. Her father hadn’t managed as well, and Alan worried that he’d get too dehydrated, but on the third day he’d been at least able to drink the broth.

  “It’s nearly sunset,” she remarked, looking briefly at Rula’s fading light. “When will the prayers begin? I should be with father so we can say them together.”

  “Half a bell after sunset, my lady,” Alan replied, then added, “about fifteen minutes, I mean.”

  “Are you a sailor then, sir?” she asked. Her manner of speech was very Thracian, as befitting a daughter of one of the great merchant houses of that kingdom, though she was from the eastern border, the northern part that Thrace shared with Ten Kingdoms, and not from near Staikal.

  Nevertheless, Alan was very careful in what he said and how he said it, for a Thracian was far more likely to note inconsistencies in his story, demeanor, and speech than a Dunshorian or Islander. “I am, my lady,” he said, “though I’ve never seen a bout of the wave-sickness as bad as your father’s. I do pray he recover soon.” He stressed the western manner of speech he’d studied with Elowyn, glad that he’d picked Lord Dunwold as his fictional erstwhile employer, for Ishveld lay on the western side of Staikal, furthest away from likely dealings with Thrace.

  He also disliked inconsistencies in his background story, although he knew it was unlikely either Quivell or his daughter had picked up any rumors from the Searcher’s crew, so it was fortunate he could maintain the background story he’d given Mari Suris. It was more likely the merchantman’s crew had learned something of him from the Searcher’s men, and he knew they’d be taking every opportunity to overhear any interactions between the passengers. Such gossip as could be gained from eavesdropping was a way to pass the time, spinning yarns about what was overheard. It could also reveal something profitable about a passenger or his business, some piece of information the captain might receive kindly. Some piece of information Alan might live to regret.

  Olivia smiled. “He’s getting better. He kept some hardtack down that I softened in the broth, and that’s encouraging.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it, my lady,” Alan said. Other than the clouds near the western horizon, it was a clear night and the stars were just starting to emerge. None of the moons were evident, but that would change once the sun went down.

  Both Lushran and Ashira were one night past full, so they would make their appearances only a few minutes past dusk, first the Moon of Power and then the Moon of Luck close upon his heels. It was Ashira’s appearance that would signal the beginning of the ritual prayer against Dalshana’s influence.

  The dark moon was precisely at half-phase as it made the transition and would rise at the stroke of midnight, signaling the beginning of the dark moon’s thankfully brief season. It was said that the demons of old were held at bay only while Dalshana circled Lushran, and that hell itself could be unleashed when she drew near.

  Alan knew that many of those sayings were true.

  The sailors had made large sage punks several inches in diameter, close-packed to stay lit in the sea breeze. In stormy weather, such things had to be done inside, but the chief mate had explained to Alan that southerners believed it was more effective to pray for protection from Dalshana under an open sky. The crew began lighting them as the daylight faded, as well as numerous lanterns around the deck, and even the one light blue witchlight from the captain’s cabin. The enchanted light hung from a thick hook just above the aft passageway door in its hexagonal crystal setting, the exquisite penalirin housing gleaming in the dusk as it swung back and forth against the ship’s motion.

  Alan and Olivia watched them for a time, and as the sun’s rays faded behind the cloud and the eastern sky began to darken, she took one last deep breath of the fresh air and patted Alan’s hand. “A better companion I could not have asked for, Alan of Staikal,” she said
. “Thank you for your courtesy.”

  Alan smiled and escorted her down the stairs and to the passageway forward. Mindful of his Staikal manners, he lightly bowed to her while holding one hand, drawing back away from her. A Dunshorian aristocrat would have bowed over her hand and most likely kissed it, and that could have been a giveaway. “Good evening, my lady,” he said. Once she had gone forward, he closed the door behind her, making sure the latch engaged automatically. Undogged doors and hatches were a danger on any ship, and he’d learned to make sure.

  You handled that pretty well, considering, Gem teased him, very much aware of the direction of his earlier gaze. She had been fairly quiet the day after his appointment with Alidalissaral, and at first she had trouble reconciling the boy she’d helped raise with the considerate and gentle lover he’d been at the Shiani temple. She’d felt his discomfort at being taken to the priestess’ bed while Gem and Lord Grey were present, but he’d mastered it, as he’d shown the capacity for mastering many of his emotions, and focused on the slim elven woman. Because of the need to stay within the Key of Firavon’s influence, leaving Gem and Lord Grey’s swordbelt outside had not been an option, even though it was highly unlikely someone would have tried to steal it within the temple grounds.

  Woe betide any who dared.

  That Saral was extremely beautiful had helped him ignore the ever-present sword and skull, and her skill and grace and the couple’s obvious enjoyment with one another had made Gem all too aware that she would never know the touch of a man. It had been hard—very hard—to be an observer in that room, but as her charge had mastered his discomfort, so too had she, coming to terms with the fact that her prince was no longer a virgin. And that she, in any real sense of the word, would always be.

  Alan felt some deep tension or worry within him release even as Gem’s teasing tone made him blush in the darkness. The sword had seemed uncomfortable after the night with the priestess, and he’d worried that Gem’s disapproval of going to her—even though she agreed with the three others in their small company that it was necessary—had wedged something between them. She’s a beautiful woman and very devoted to her father, the prince replied. One could do worse… he opined, then shook himself. Not that I’m likely to have the leisure to court someone any time soon.

  True enough, Gem replied, giving him a mental hug. Alan was a man, in nearly any way one cared to define the term, and she’d better get used to him behaving as one, though she hoped that he’d avoid frequenting such establishments. He’d been nervous and unskilled, but he’d proven a quick learner, clearly enjoying the time spent in the elf’s bed. Some men, Gem knew, developed quite a taste for such pursuits, but it was beyond her ken to know if Alan was one, and further outside of her purview to judge her wielder, no matter what his proclivities.

  As the first moon began to rise, a bright and lustrous yellow disk on the eastern horizon, Alan made his way down to join the majority of the crew around the smoky sage smudge sticks and prepared to add his voice to their chanted prayer. When the shimmering golden disk that was Ashira’s orb rose as well, a few degrees south of Lushran’s origin point, they began to sing the ancient prayer together.

  Though Darkness comes unto the sky

  Though the unkind Moon o'er us flies

  Though Death stalk us freely at Her call

  Though hearts shall falter and men fall

  Though blood spill

  Though graves fill

  Lord of Mercy guard us this Night

  And keep the Dark at bay

  Lords of Light keep us in your Sight

  And keep the Dark at bay

  Lady of Swords lend us your Might

  And keep the Dark at bay

  Young Lord avenge and put things Right

  And keep the Dark at bay

  Bright moons above give us your Light

  And keep the Dark at bay

  And keep the Dark at bay

  Olivia’s father died in the late hours of the night before dawn.

  ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

  The Silei servant had been very accommodating when he’d asked for access to the elven assassin’s room along the strand. The dark-haired elf obviously resented having to work for an Avani innkeeper, and the fact that Celewyn was also Avani helped immeasurably. It was much easier to influence the minds of those already inclined to undertake a task, for Ammon was taking no chances that the Silei might inform Celewyn of the intrusion to double his pay. He’d entranced the elf with a subtle spell that would be difficult to detect and which would prevent him from remembering he’d helped the Easterner.

  As expected, the master assassin hadn’t left anything in the room, and in any event, Ammon wasn’t fool enough to disturb anything. No matter how carefully he returned items to their place, an elf like Celewyn was likely to notice. That wasn’t his purpose anyhow.

  Elven establishments were clean and sanitary, so the spell he was using carried some risk of being noted, but it was by far his best tracking spell. If Celewyn noticed the prick of the beetle’s bite and sought out the creature, or worse, spotted it with his elven witchsight, the spell would very likely be discovered and the game would become much more dangerous. Such a one as the elf was capable of turning the tide on his hunter, and Ammon had no wish to feel the elven blades he carried, but with Lian’s departure for the south, following Celewyn was an opportunity not to be ignored. Once the prince arrived in the Empire, it would be altogether too easy for him to disappear in the press of the crowded Southron cities.

  True, if he simply awaited Indigo Runner’s arrival, there was a chance he’d have his opportunity as Lian made his way ashore, or that he’d be able to follow him, but Celewyn might strike first and rob him of his prize. After the pain he’d suffered at the vampire’s clawed hands, he rather felt he deserved to get paid for his trouble, and he hated to think of the elf claiming the prize he was so close to attaining.

  Ammon gathered his power and concentration, singing softly to the small metallic-colored beetle he held in a small tinderbox in his left hand, while making sorcerous gestures with his right. The flesh-eating beetle was from his home desert, where they could occasionally be dangerous to small children or animals in numbers, but one alone wasn’t much of a hazard. The copper-colored beetle made clicking sounds as it attempted to open its wings and fly out of the tinderbox to avoid the spell, but the magic stilled its motion and held it in the box. Ammon finished the short spell, pleased both at the fact it had taken full hold on the beetle and that he’d sung it without any discomfort. He’d rewarded the hedge witch well for her curative, for it had repaired the damage the Companion had done to his throat as completely as he could have hoped for.

  He was still working on attaining the full range he’d once enjoyed, and that was a work in progress, but he was able to sing nearly every spellsong he knew, and that was a true joy to him. What the vampire had done to him would pale beside Celewyn’s wrath should he be discovered in the elf’s room (for one thing, Celewyn would ensure he stayed dead) and Ammon didn’t tarry now that the spell was in effect. Tipping the beetle carefully onto the floor, it skittered under the bed where it would wait for the Avani assassin and an opportunity to bite him.

  If it was successful, it would hide within the bedding until it felt the returning song’s magic, and that was when it was at its most vulnerable. If Celewyn felt the bite and was sufficiently paranoid about his bodily fluids—or sufficiently enraged at being hurt by some bug—to seek out whatever’d bitten him, he’d no doubt find the spell and Ammon might well find himself on the receiving end of those elven blades after all. But the spell that bound the beetle also shielded it from vermin-destroying spells, as some used on their bedding each night. And the beetle’s life force would protect the blood it would extract from spells intended to destroy the thaumaturgic linkage between blood and person.

  That would be only the beginning of the challenge for the Eastern mage, for the elf no doubt had spells that made scrying more diffic
ult, and Ammon’s talent in that arena was among his weakest areas of spellsinging. The physical linkage between Celewyn and his blood would help that effort immensely, but it would still be tricky. And then, we’ll see if we can’t best the Shadow himself, he thought as he withdrew from the room, careful to leave no trace of his visit save the beetle hidden under the bed.

  ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

  The elven assassin that some knew as Shadow, and no one now living knew as the half-brother to the now-dead Dunshor Master of Assassins, stood at Iliuthien’s prow as the ship cut a graceful line through the water. Not quite as fast as Searcher was rumored to be at full sail, the elven warship was nonetheless heading south at well over twelve knots. Her complex sails were a combination of square-rigged fore and main sails and a fore-and-aft-rigged mizzen, and she combined many of the best advantages of both sail types.

  The elf rubbed his elbow where he’d somehow cut himself the night before. The small wound was painful but had stopped bleeding before the elf had even awoke. He wasn’t sure where he’d brushed against something sharp, and he’d sung a purification spell over the faint bloodstains in the bed to remove all trace of his aura from what he’d left behind. Must have been when I got back to the inn, he thought, for he’d moved through the building’s garden as he returned to his lodging. One of the rosebushes must have pierced him with its thorns, though he didn’t find any traces of his blood when he examined them in the morning.

  It bothered him, for he’d used blood magic many times in his career to bring harm to others, to follow their movements, and even to compel their actions, but he’d worked magic to purify the area around the rosebushes and he should be safe enough. So far as he knew, no one was hunting for him, and certainly no one knew he was looking for Lian.

  The Nightblood Elowyn had used to end his life the night of the coup would have left behind no trace of his physical form to use in necromantic magic to question his spirit, so knowledge of the link between the brothers had died along with Elowyn and Evan Kolvanson. And while King Evan had known of the brothers’ relationship, Celewyn discounted any possibility that the Usurper and his queen would have asked his shade about it, assuming they’d called it back from the afterlife. Such a question simply wasn’t in context with anything they’d use Evan’s ghost for, because the Grand Duke’s forces and allies had not known the two elves were related.