The king nodded. “Frankly, even if it’s an annoyance, it’s simply that, and not as worrying as what the Esros ambassador had to say about the High Realms.” Esros was long an ally of Dunshor, dating back to the harshest days of the rebellion against the Theocracy.
Because Princess Darwyn had been married to Prince Kale of Esros before his death, many of the Dunshor nobility had expected them to pronounce opposition to the coup, if not declare outright war. Knowing they would be a potential thorn in the side of the new monarchy, however, Rishak had laid the groundwork well to ensure King Rayn would support his ascension.
Rayn had long cast envious eyes on Datan and Oshell to the east, and from there the so-called Barbarian Kingdoms and their access to the Eastern Sea. Rishak had promised to support Esros against the other western kingdoms if they invaded Datan, committing troops from the Venturi Plain to shore up Esros’ western borders. That this had the side effect of keeping the northern provinces’ standing armies afield and away from the central kingdom was a boon to Rishak as well as to Rayn.
Avrell raised an eyebrow in question. “And what did good Velia have to say?” The Avani elf had served Esros for generations, in self-imposed exile from the Sylvan lands. She was exceptionally skilled at statecraft and, to all appearances’ sake, quite loyal to the House of Esros.
Rishak snorted. “She informed us what King Rayn’s intelligence network has discovered: that Lord Kristalf and a coalition of twenty other well-placed lords were planning to strike against Esros as a prelude to coming down through the Passes.” The northern range was old and low and boasted many passes from the western kingdoms to Dunshor. “Kristalf intends, according to Velia, to put paid to us ‘for the injustice and high crime of slaying kith and kin.’ Her words.”
“Twenty?” Avrell muttered. “I suppose it could have been worse…”
Rishak nodded grimly. “It’s not as many as Kristalf would have liked, I’m sure, but they will probably be able to field ten thousand foot and almost eighteen hundred calvary between them. That’s more than enough to put a major damper on Rayn’s eastern ambitions, even with the Army’s support.”
“No doubt Her Grace had a lot to say about that as well?” Avrell asked with a chuckle.
Jisa joined with a laugh of her own, as did Rishak, although his sounded more like another snort. “Oh, good Ambassador Velia was quite verbal on the subject, I can assure you,” she replied with her bright, lovely voice. “But the gist of it was her desire to know if Rayn could count on Braega’s help.”
“And of course, we assured her that he could and that we have no intention of bringing General Braega home,” Rishak added as he sipped the dark amber wine that was his current favorite. “The last thing we need is for the rest of the High Realms, followed by Sardith and Thrace, to decide we’re weak in the north. Especially because we are weak in the north.” His voice was grim as he added the last.
“I take it you’re not entirely reassured by the lack of open rebellion since the…ascension?” Avrell asked. Even he refrained, even in close company with the plotters themselves, from referring to it as anything but a legitimate rise to power. He had been friends with Rishak since the two were young soldiers together, but he was quite aware that Evan’s relationship with his half-brother had been closer than that and had gone quite a bit further back in time. And he was also quite aware that both Stevan and Ruthold wanted him removed from ruling the southern marches so that one of them could become the new Grand Duke. He knew the King’s mind on that subject, however, and wasn’t too worried about it, for now at least. He wanted his sons busy at Court where he could keep his eye on their ambitions and, unfortunately in the case of the older brother, their excesses.
Jisa answered, “An open rebellion would be more straightforward, actually, Your Grace. I think the Stillwood would happily defy us openly if they could count on their neighbors’ support, but Caeri and Isven are all too aware how easily an army could march across the plains and lay siege to Shika or Tuval.”
The Barony of Ly’el and County of Tuval, Caeri and Isven’s lands, respectively, both lay on the northern border of Dunshor, and roughly half their standing armies were north of the mountains in Esros under General Braega’s command, making the threat of attack from the central kingdom much more serious than it might have otherwise been. Avrell knew that the new King and Queen labored mightily to pit factions against one another wherever possible and to weaken ones that were naturally aligned as much as they could.
That effort was complicated immensely by the knowledge that Prince Lian had escaped that fateful night, and the Count of Mourning wondered once again why Rishak refused to just declare the prince dead as he’d done for the former king and queen as well as the other princes and princesses, Lian’s siblings. After all, no dead body had ever been produced for Princess Jenine, yet no one questioned her death the night of the coup. Her death in the all-consuming flames of Nightblood had been witnessed by two dozen men, but one could claim that all of those men had been then—and remained now—in the service of Rishak.
He supposed it was too widely known the prince had escaped and too well known that the Crown had offered a significant bounty on his young life to invent Lian’s death. He was comfortable with his liege lord and lady, but not comfortable enough to mention the prince’s name in their presence, so relieving his curiosity would have to wait on his rulers’ leave.
“It’s a more delicate situation than that, no doubt,” Avrell commented. “If you sent an army north, and I moved troops north to cover their absence in the central lands, I’ve no doubt that the southern harassment, for lack of a better term, would become much more active.”
Both King and Queen nodded unhappily, knowing full well how weak the Kingdom’s position actually was. That they could count on Mourning’s loyalty was a boon, but Avrell didn’t believe for a moment that either of them trusted him completely. In point of fact, he knew that several of his high-placed officers were informants for either Rishak or Jisa. That was to be expected, and it was fine with him, because he had no ambition beyond Mourning and the southern marches, and he’d gladly surrender the “Grand Duchy,” which wasn’t called that any longer, if his monarchs required it. Ruling southern Dunshor was a thing he did for their benefit, and they were aware of his yearning to turn the marches over to a younger man and retire to his ancestral lands around Mourning.
“Hyriel’s made some veiled comments about how vulnerable our shipping is on the Eastern Sea, as well,” Rishak added. “I’ve addressed that—I think—with some key trade concessions, far beyond what would have been tolerated in the past, and the treasury’s already strained.”
Before the king could continue, Jisa suddenly gasped, jumping to her feet and clenching her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them, she was no longer quite focused on the room around them.
“Your Majesty, are you well?” Avrell inquired, startled and obviously concerned.
She blinked rapidly, refocusing on the here and now, and then forced a smile at the count. “Yes, yes, Your Grace, thank you,” she replied, her usual smooth voice rough, betraying the degree of her stress. “A twinge of the calf only. Best I walk it off before it becomes a cramp.”
Avrell, who hadn’t attained his current position, nor maintained it, by being slow, hastily rose himself. “Clearly, His Majesty should attend you, Your Highness,” he said, quickly bowing and excusing himself to withdraw from the room. Neither monarch said a word as the count left, but both noted that he securely latched the door behind him, leaving them alone once again.
“What is it, Jise?” Rishak asked, concern written large upon his broad features as he held onto her arm in support.
“Alec is no more,” Jisa said. “The spell that made him is unwound, and the shock of it caught me off guard.” She was trembling with the aftershock of the sudden magical backlash, although neither Rishak nor Avrell had seen or felt a thing; neither had a jot of mageblood in them.
Rishak’s eyes narrowed. “And the other three?” Alec was by far the weakest of the four wraiths Jisa had created, but he was also significantly stronger than the usual spectral Undead. Most wards against their kind would be ineffective, and many enchanted weapons would fail to stop him. This the Usurper knew, but he didn’t question Jisa’s statement.
“Still active,” she assured him, but gestured for her husband to remove the rug at the foot of their bed. Beneath the huge Eastern-style rug was a permanent conjuring circle, and she moved into it without hesitation, first uttering a short chant to cleanse the area of dust or debris, and then following that with three different spellsongs to enact protective wardings between her and the spell energies that might follow if the other wraiths, too, were destroyed.
Despite the personal danger to her from the backlash, Jisa smiled with a predatory mien. “Radiel wouldn’t have unleashed him to get into trouble unless they’ve found their brother,” she said, baring her teeth.
Despite his taciturn nature—and his self-contempt over what they’d done to his nieces and nephews—Rishak grinned back. Surely, it would be over soon, and they could get on with simply ruling Dunshor.
^ ^ ^
We underestimated Lian badly, it is clear, Rishak thought as he stood on the rooftop, letting the setting sun cast its reddish glow on his spell-scarred face. We assumed he’d be fleeing in terror, at bay and helpless before this assault. Instead...what? How do I begin to interpret this catastrophe? He didn’t know what power Lian had gathered to allow him not only to survive but to destroy three of the four wraiths sent after him. Radiel alone of the four was still in existence, and he had no idea how long that would be true.
Jisa, who’d been shaken by the sudden end of Keven shortly after Alec’s fall, had regained some confidence as the moments had passed without any further destruction of her constructed Undead, but that had faltered completely when Darwyn, as well, had ceased to be.
Now, he worried about his wife’s self-confidence, since any public weakness was a danger to them both. If she couldn’t throw off the blow to her ego from losing so many of her carefully enspelled creations, the mages of the old Theocracy would not fail to notice a change in her demeanor. And that would bring about a change in their demeanor.
Deal with what you can, Rishak, he admonished himself. He knew Count Avrell, the only one to have any idea something might be wrong with the Queen, was dying to inquire as to her health, but Mourning knew as well as the King did how precarious their hold on the dark mages was. It’s not like a short absence from Court is unusual for her, after all, he added to himself. During the long conjuration, she’d been absent for days at a time in her labors, both to prepare for and to recover from the magical exertion. That was, he supposed, what frightened him the most. He knew how much skill, effort, and sheer power his wife had put into the creation and binding of the wraiths, and for three of them to have been destroyed, and so quickly, bespoke of magic they had not anticipated.
Magic that was in support of Lian and in opposition to them.
The assassin taught him better than I thought, or he was a more apt pupil than I thought, Rishak pondered, meaning Elowyn and his tutelage. He’s surrounded himself in a cloak we can’t pierce and gathered enough power to him to stop the wraiths—three of them, anyway—cold. Even worse from the king’s point of view, Lian now likely knew what the king and queen had done to his siblings. And how many others possessed this information? What proof, if any was to be had, did they hold?
A familiar arm slipped into the crook of his left elbow, and he took his wife’s hand with his right. She had a knack for knowing where he’d be, so he’d long grown used to her sneaking up upon him wherever he went. Glancing about them, he ascertained that the closest of his bodyguards was well outside of earshot and out of position to read his lips. Suspicion and mistrust were old bedfellows, and he felt particularly paranoid at the moment, with their carefully formed plans in such apparent disarray.
“Are you well, my love?” he murmured to her, low but kindly. As always, his paranoia didn’t extend to his queen.
She nodded as she leaned into his arm, and he slipped his elbow out of her grip to hug her to him. “Most of the shock was the controlling spells rebounding back on me, despite the wardings,” she said, the strain in her voice no longer evident. “It’s a setback, certainly, but one arrow is still in flight and won’t be turned from its objective, no matter what else has happened.”
He tried not to let his relief in hearing her normal, confident tone show, but he knew she’d feel the tension go out of him. “I was worried about you, Jisa,” he admitted, knowing she would understand the many levels his simple sentence encompassed.
She nodded in the crook of his arm. “We both knew it might not work from the outset, my love,” she said. “I certainly hoped otherwise, but there are many ways to ward against their kind, as well. Maybe he’s taken shelter in a temple of Damar or something.” While the Avenger’s priests had a host of powers effective against the Undead, the king knew she didn’t really believe that last. While Lian might have gone to ground in a Damari temple, the wraiths would never have gone near such a place, much less been in range for three of them to be destroyed. They’d have bided their time until an opportunity to strike appeared.
“As you say, one arrow may yet find its mark,” Rishak said, using his years of experience in commanding armies to best effect, lacing his tone with optimism. “And even if it doesn’t, their actions may reveal him to our seers. Diverting so much power to stopping the attack might have dislodged something in his defenses against the One-Eyed Crone.”
Jisa chuckled, a throaty sound he’d always liked. “That’s why I stopped to talk to Coman before coming to find you, my husband,” she said, and the Usurper could feel even more of the tension ease in the back of his neck. If Jisa was thinking clearly enough to plan ahead, there was hope they’d get through this after all. And if the Royal Seer or those under his command could locate Lian, they could strike.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
The timber groaned and snapped, loosing the sailcloth into the sea as the makeshift mast gave under the strain. Lian and the others wearily hauled the lines and sail back aboard, not that they’d do any good without a mast. Of Indigo Runner’s original complement of twenty-eight human passengers and crew, only five remained alive, plus Snog. Lian had taken command after the battle, and the crewmen were, at the time, too much in shock to resist. Lian’s presence and sea skills had reassured the four Southron men, and for the moment they’d accepted Lian taking over as the acting captain.
Not that Lian didn’t think they’d sell him out at the first opportunity once—if—they made port. They’d all “heard” the wraiths call him by name, after all, and it was well known Rishak had a price on his head. Fear of Lord Grey—even though they’d never seen him, they’d certainly heardhim—and Gem would stay them for a time, but only while they were nearby the renegade prince.
The largest of the four was the grizzled, heavily tattooed cook Naryn, who’d escaped the wraiths moving through the ship by virtue of having been down in the storeroom when they’d slaughtered the majority of the crew. He’d actually been unaware the ship had been under attack at first, and he’d been fortunate enough not to be found as he hid among the dry stores. The other three sailors had been either lucky or fast enough to get onto deck before the wraiths claimed them.
Jinian was the most senior after the cook, but despite being a good seaman the muscular man was slow of thought and completely incapable of assuming command.
Mikos, by contrast, was a clever man but green and inexperienced. The run from Avethiel to the south was only his second time at sea, and he’d been nearly as seasick as the Quivells at first, though he’d recovered sooner. A superstitious young man, he had gathered the lucky charms and holy symbols from the dead and wore many of them around his neck and tied about his wrists as wards against the wraiths. Not that a single one of them would do any good if
Radiel wanted to take him, Lian thought at the time, but neither had he stopped the man from trying to make himself feel safe.
It was the fourth sailor that concerned Lian the most. Virinos was an experienced able seaman, a rail-thin man who’d been jumpy before the attack and was riding on the edge of complete mental collapse afterward. He was prone to bouts of nerves, where he’d sit shaking unless Lian or Naryn snapped him out of it. Every shadow, it seemed, made the scarecrow of a man jump, fearing it was the wraiths returning to claim him. The grisly work of burying the others by wrapping them and sending them over the side in a large, weighted bunch had only made Virinos’ fears worse, and Snog watched him carefully. A man pushed too far was unpredictable, the goblin had told Lian, and the fugitive prince couldn’t disagree.
“Vir!” snapped Lian, gaining the man’s attention as he began to sink down on the deck after rescuing the sail from the sea.
The sailor started, his eyes wide and panicked for a moment, then focused on Lian. “Yes, cap’n?” he asked, his calm voice at odds with the fear and turmoil in his movements.
“Help Snog and me get the sail stowed, or it’ll blow loose at the first gust,” Lian said in a firm but gentler tone. “Naryn’ll get some grub ready for us all.” The cook nodded, heading off to the galley. With only six living crew, including the goblin, their supplies would last for a very long time, and Naryn’s job was a lot smaller than it had been just days before.
Virinos stirred and joined the other two in folding the sail and lashing it to the port deckwale. “No savin’ either mast, Mr. Alan,” the sailor said, still using Lian’s assumed name despite knowing otherwise. “We can probably cut some smaller sail and use the afterboom for a mast…maybe rig up a jib for a fores’l…”
By Blood Hunted: Kingsblood Chronicles Part Two (The Kingsblood Chronicles Book 2) Page 21
