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

by David J. Houpt

  “It is not my intention to take a posting as your bodyguard, my lady, however briefly,” he countered. “I am only agreeing to act as your guardian in the port until you have found accommodations and can make other arrangements.”

  This statement did surprise her, and he could hear her annoyance in her voice. “I see,” she said flatly.

  “I just vacated my last contract, my lady,” he explained. “I had not intended to take on a new one until my business in Kavris is finished, but neither do I want to see a lovely young lady such as yourself accosted or even abducted by some ruffian or other.”

  She began to interrupt him, but he continued, his tone firm, “I’ll get you to a safe set of accommodations and safeguard you long enough to hire reliable protectors, but I’ve no intention of escorting you to your meetings with your proctors. Were we to conduct your business during your search for trustworthy bodyguards, we would unduly delay my own affairs.”

  She was clearly not happy to hear that, but said, “I do see, Alan. It will delay my own business briefly, but it’s not your fault that father chose not to bring guards with us on the sea voyage, is it?” Her tone was a little pleading, as if she hoped he’d change his mind but knew he wouldn’t.

  He ached to take advantage of that opening, to ascertain why the Quivells were traveling without guards, but he didn’t allow his curiosity to reach his face. After all, she’d likely lie anyhow. “I thank you for the understanding, my lady,” he said instead. “My time, and my scout’s, is worth five shillings a day.”

  Without hesitation, the woman responded, “A crown a week, and a guarantee that I’ll have a week if it takes me that long to find reliable guards.”

  It’s not like we’re operating under a specific deadline, and talking with her merchant proctors and their employees might give us a hint about where to go, Gem observed.

  Oh, I agree. This seems like a distraction on the surface, but it is more a source of information than it is a hindrance. And given the possibility—however remote—that she’s innocent, I’d hate for something unfortunate to happen to her, Alan replied.

  He was pretty sure she was the poisoner, but there was always the possibility that Quivell had taken his own life for reasons unknown to anyone but himself. He’d ruled out Qan or someone in the crew doing it; Olivia had been watching what he ate too closely and sharing much of what she fed him. Had a crew member been the poisoner, it seemed likely that she’d have at least fallen ill as well.

  “A week and no longer, or we renegotiate,” Alan replied aloud, accepting the crown as a reasonable payment. He certainly didn’t need the money, but he also didn’t want anyone to know that.

  “Agreed,” she said, offering her gloved hand. He took it with only a passing thought that she might have poisoned the glove. “Your service begins when we reach port.”

  “Also agreed,” Alan said. “The crew’s been pretty well in hand since your father’s death. If that changes, if you start to have problems with someone, we’ll also renegotiate for my swordarm while on board.” He gave her the abbreviated bow from a yeoman to a liege, and took his leave of her.

  Qan, Alan knew, had made it plain that anyone harassing the young merchant lady would face far more than a flogging. He had the impression that Indigo Runner had worked for House Quivell before, and the captain was eager to show himself reliable to the new head of that house. To all appearances’ sake, Qan had completely forgotten about the mercenary’s possible inheritance in favor of the new possibilities impressing Quivell might offer. Alan didn’t believe that for a moment, though. A man like Qan kept his eye out for any advantage, and he wouldn’t have forgotten that Alan was potentially come into money, and that he and the goblin were far from home with no friends.

  Qan may try kidnapping her himself, I suppose, Gem said to her wielder as he made his way forward. Or Quivell and you both.

  That thought had occurred. We’ll remain on our guard, of course, but I do honestly think it more unlikely the more I’ve seen of our good captain, Alan replied. His ambition is overrun by his laziness, I think. He stepped over some rope that was being repaired, nodding a greeting to the working crewmen. He’d grown accustomed to not issuing orders to see to work that needed doing, unlike when they’d first come aboard. A few times, he’d only narrowly stopped himself from ordering adjustments or cleanup.

  He climbed up to the foredeck, where Snog was whittling—carefully—with the enchanted dagger Alan had given him. “She had a lot more to say today,” the goblin observed with a grin. He hadn’t given up teasing Alan about women.

  “She’s hired us when we get to Kavris, actually,” Alan said, not rising to Snog’s bait. “Sentinel duty until she hires some bodyguards.”

  “Did she, now?” Snog said. “Guess she’s given up on you bein’ lovestruck, milord?” The grin returned to his face, punctuated by his fangs.

  Alan didn’t even blush, having gotten used to most of the goblin’s barbs. Snog still caught him out from time to time, though he didn’t use the best ones in public, a fact that Alan appreciated.

  The sudden cessation of nightmares had once again allowed him to get a good night’s rest, and the difference was visible in his posture and demeanor. Even some of the crew had noticed he seemed to be feeling better. Some of them had taken a liking to the yeoman mercenary and his tales of Searcher’s exploits, though he knew they didn’t believe most of them. They’d be ashore in less than two weeks, and once they were done assisting Quivell, they could begin the task of seeking Fulnor and, perhaps, discovering what the goddess of vengeance intended by sending him there.

  ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

  They traveled at night, of course, for sunlight has always been the bane of wraiths, even ones such as them. Their queen had given them strict orders about being seen or interacting with the living, even an easy mark moving alone at night. They were compelled to obey her wishes, but in the case of three of them, such binding was not needed, for they’d grown to love their dark Mistress with fanatical devotion, reveling in the twisted evil things they’d become.

  Only the oldest was a failure in that regard, and because of it, the other three held him in utter contempt, taunting and tormenting him endlessly as they flew ever southward each night. It mattered little to the others that the oldest was vastly more deadly and powerful than a typical wraith, that his touch could kill nearly instantly, as the guardian wraith in the Tower of Firavon had nearly done to their quarry. The usual wraith could still drain life from its victim, to be sure, but it took time and warding charms against such relatively simple Undead were widely known.

  They’d already crossed all of Dunshor and the inlet of the Laend Sea, taking their final land-based refuge in a small cave in the western part of the Sylvan Forest. The small pride of mountain lions whose home it had been were not at all satisfying, but the siblings had devoured what spirit energy they could from the cats anyway. That such energy didn’t actually nourish them was irrelevant—they craved the extinguishing of life, and the opportunity was too good to pass up. Even better, if a lion had somehow escaped, it could hardly warn anyone that wraiths had come to the region.

  I can sense an encampment—probably elves—just to the west, the oldest said hopefully. In life, he had been the Crown Prince, the eldest, beloved and respected by all of them. In Undeath, he was the least of them, and his spectral voice had a whining, begging tone to it, and unlike his three sibling-wraiths, his form was not nearly as well defined.

  A wraith’s appearance was typically a featureless cloaked figure, like the ones Lian had encountered first in Firavon’s Tower and then outside of Greythorn City. The incorporeal Undead did not usually recall enough of their past life to take the shape they’d had when alive, but these four were different, even Prince Alec’s wraith. These wraiths looked exactly as they had in life, though rendered in shades of gray, without coloration of any kind. Alec’s form tended to fade to a faceless, even fingerless, one, but when he was paying attention, he l
ooked as he had.

  If anyone familiar with the royal family had spotted the wraiths (and lived), they would have seen a blending of Evan and Adrienne’s features in each of the Undead. All six of the royal children had been slimmer than their father and darker-complected than their mother, though coloration was almost impossible to determine in their ghostly forms.

  The oldest wraith’s demeanor wasn’t like it was in life, of course. None of theirs were.

  Lashing out against poor Alec with sorcerous power, the wraith once known as Princess Radiel snapped, What of it, you fool? We aren’t about to disobey Her orders for someone as pathetic as you. Their mistress had, in the end, given Alec’s binding over to her, for she was the strongest and most vicious of the four. Her magical power was far greater than either of the other two spellsingers, and her will was more than strong enough to keep Alec from straying from their goal.

  Alec cried out in pain, an outcry that only the four of them could hear, and his three siblings smiled cruelly at the despair in his voice. Only one person in all of Tieran roused their need to hurt and kill more than their eldest brother, and that was their youngest.

  Lian is closer tonight than he was last night, Darwyn said eagerly. Can you not feel it? At the mere mention of the prince’s name, even Alec stopped his weeping and hissed.

  Radiel didn’t recall why she hated her twin so much, but she didn’t question the feeling. He was the central purpose of her being, and the hatred of him was like a cold star in her heart. The Queen wanted him dead, and that was a good thing, because they’d all have found it difficult to obey any order, even from Her, that left him alive. The need to destroy him consumed them, and for the three spellcasters, it was their entire focus.

  Alec’s mind was not as complete, not as undamaged as theirs were, and they knew that his weakness was not his fault, but none of them cared. Darwyn and Keven always smiled when Radiel used the bindings to torment him, and she used the magic often, and for the slightest offense. His helplessness before Radiel’s cruelty only fueled their lust to inflict suffering and death, and each of them imagined that it was Lian underneath the magical lash. Had they physical forms, they would have almost been drooling at the prospect of inflicting harm on their brother.

  Lian had survived that terrible night. How dare he?

  He’d escaped their fate. How could he?

  In their twisted consciousness, it never even occurred to them that their deaths, and their pain and suffering, were all because of their Mistress. She’d broken them long ago of associating their condition with Her, and they accepted the Queen’s cruelties during the long ritual casting as Her due. After all, they’d torture their slaves, too, if they had any, would they not?

  Their dark devotion to Queen Jisa did not apply to King Rishak, however, and the four hated their uncle just as much as they hated any other member of their family save Lian. Any one of the wraiths would kill him if they got the chance, and one of them almost had. Not long before the completion of Jisa’s ritual, Darwyn had actually managed to slip part of her incorporeal self out of her binding circle to do exactly that, and all of them, even Alec, had been urging her on in their minds. The Queen had noticed before the former princess had managed to reach out and touch the King and ordered the wraith back into its circle, mending the breach immediately. King Rishak had been shaken down to his boots, and all of them had exulted in his fear.

  She’d punished them all for Darwyn’s attempt, but it had been worth the horrendous agony to see Rishak withdraw, shaking, from the conjuring room. All of them wanted to see him fear them again, to make him fear them again. They’d find a way to visit the Usurper after Lian was dead, too, if they could somehow avoid being directly ordered not to. Her word was law, even to Alec, although he’d forget Her orders not long after they were given. They would not disobey Her, but neither would they fail to take advantage of any loopholes in Her instructions. Once Lian was dead, would they not be entitled to finish off the family? So few of them were still alive, it would be easy.

  None of the three younger wraiths was looking forward to following Lian’s trail out to the Great Southron Ocean that divided Shara from Vella, but at least they’d make better time once they did, for they could continue moving through the water once they were deep enough to get out of Rula’s thrice-accursed light. While they could move through solid objects, provided they weren’t warded, it took a great deal of effort and concentration to do so, and they could not make much progress underground. Under the sea, they would be moving nearly as fast as through the air, and they’d catch up to Lian quite soon, and then they would feed upon any who were foolish enough to be with him, oh yes.

  But most importantly, their brother would die.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It is telling, is it not, that one of the chief gods of the Pelorians was Dalshana, Lady of the Dark Moon? Of all of the gods of this world, it seemed to many, the Pelorians loved the Lady of Evil best.

  -- “Dalshana’s Devotees,” a Pelorian religious history, attributed to Sage Joren Flamehair, c. 1928 PE

  The storm began at dusk, and both Lord Grey and Gem soon sensed that it was unnatural. Lian and Snog were in the cabin talking about the day’s activities, and both started when the skull and Gem both said, “Alan!” at the same time.

  Lord Grey let the sword speak.

  “We must get up on deck, my boy,” the sword said worriedly. “This is mage weather.”

  Alan didn’t bother to ask if she was sure—Lord Grey’s reaction told him they’d both felt whatever magic was at work.

  “I need to get a good look at it to see if I can counter it,” Lord Grey added. “And if it’s a prelude to an attack of some kind, you’re better off outside; I’ll ward you both against lightning first.” All four of them knew that it was much easier to call lightning against one’s enemies if there was a storm already present.

  While Snog and Alan gathered their weapons and buckled their swordbelts, the necromancer sang a beautiful syncopated song in a major key, one that raised the hairs on both of the living warriors’ necks, culminating in a long fading sustained note that left a faint smell of ozone behind. “Masterclass lightning can’t penetrate that ward, though it won’t protect you against other things,” he warned, no sign of strain in his voice at all. Whatever wellspring his magic originated from, none of the others had seen any sign that he’d ever reached its limits.

  By the time they reached the main deck, Indigo Runner was already pitching heavily from the sudden winds, and the helmsman was heading her up into the wind to take the strain off the sails while the crew lowered the lateen booms. The waves weren’t stirred up that much yet, but the merchant crew needed to work quickly to rig up the storm sail or she could turn broadside to the waves and risk being swamped.

  Keep an eye out for our enemies, Alan told Gem, for he believed that this had nothing to do with Indigo Runner. After getting a firm response from the blade, he lent his back to the men raising the long triangular storm sail. To his surprise, the sailors began tying it off astern near the helmsman with long belayed coils of extra hawser. The sailors didn’t mark the fact that he bore Gem at his side; he always carried the weapon when he was on deck. At first, they’d taken that as arrogance or a threat, but they’d eventually grown accustomed to the weapon’s presence. If any of them noticed he was carrying his pack and other weapons tonight, they didn’t say so.

  As they worked, one of the sailors explained the helmsman could let the sail billow out in a heavy gust and then they could haul it taut again when the worst was past, and Alan saw the logic in it right away. It wasn’t as flexible or adaptable as the reefable jib sails Searcher used in a storm, but it could also be let slack much more quickly, allowing the helmsman to prevent the merchant ship from executing a fatal gybe to the leeward side in a following or sidelong sea. A poorly handled ship in that circumstance could capsize in a moment.

  Alan and Snog made their way to the stern deck, taking position
s near the railing on the windward side of the helm out of the helmsman and officers’ way. Qan had long become accustomed to the pair and their ability to stay out from underfoot, and he just nodded to them as they climbed up to the deck.

  Lord Grey’s voice, pitched for Alan and Snog’s ears alone, spoke. “This weather witch knows his business,” he said. “It’s not just a local squall line; he’s disrupted weather over many miles, channeling it across our position. He’s also far out of range of any of my spells.”

  “Miles, you say?” Alan said, pretending to address Snog. “Are you saying he’s a Master?”

  Gem silently said, I’ll say it if he doesn’t; this is Masterclass magic.

  “Yes, I am,” Lord Grey replied. “And with a notable talent for weather magic, at that. I’m glad I warded you; I’ve no doubt he’ll strike with lightning once the time comes.”

  “Do we warn the cap’n?” asked Snog, picking at his fingernail with one of his mundane daggers; the magical one he’d named sh’rek k’kra, which translated as “Deathfang,” was simply too dangerous to use in such a manner. In Dunshorian, Snog usually referred to his enchanted blade simply as “Fang.”

  After making sure none of the crew were in earshot, though he trusted Snog not to have asked if he wasn’t sure they weren’t going to be overheard, Alan said, “I can’t think of a way to do that without getting clapped in irons to hand over to the attacker, can you?”

  Snog raised his eyebrows. “This is someone coming after the prince?” he asked, meaning Prince Lian specifically. “Have you lost the marble?” That was their code word for the Key.

  Alan shook his head. “No, but this has to do with us, I can feel it somehow.”

  “Whether that’s true or no,” Lord Grey said, “we must assume that somehow the marble’s been circumvented and this mage is significantly more dangerous than even the storm makes him appear.”