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

by David J. Houpt

  “Hopefully, she simply won’t be able to find a large number of creatures sufficiently useful to be dangerous to us but weak enough that she can force them to do her will,” Lord Grey said, again sounding like his usual self. “But we can’t bet on that, and we should assume that when she comes, she’ll be at the head of a force that is more than a match for us physically.

  “You and I, Gem,” he continued, “should begin making preparations to strengthen Lian and Snog’s physical defenses and to prepare as many magical defensive spells as we can so we can focus on burning down her allies rather than worrying about who or what might be attacking our prince.”

  “That is something we should have been working on for the past few days,” Gem admitted. “I’ve been more shaken than either of you can know, but it’s past time to get down to business.”

  Lian touched her hilt gently.

  Although the skull and sword had recognized the need to put defensive warding spells on Lian after the sea battle with the Varshans, they had withheld because such magic was obvious. During the time on Searcher, Lian would not have been able to hide these warding spells from the ship’s mages. Even after leaving the warship, they’d refrained because even non-casters sometimes had some magical senses. It was likely to draw magically apt attention to Lian, and they decided the risk outweighed the reward. Now, it seemed, there was no reason not to weave defensive spells about Lian. There was no one to see these wards, save Radiel and whatever creatures she brought with her, after all.

  “We can use Qan’s cabin as a ritual area,” the skull agreed. “I’ve been thinking about how best to meld our talents into the most effective and efficient wardings, and I’ve been eager to explore the possibilities with you. We will also have to ward Snog, and we’ll build as many warding items as we can to protect the crew, but we can’t spread our efforts too thin or they won’t be powerful enough to be effective.”

  Lian didn’t like the idea of the other survivors facing enemy spellcasting undefended, but he had no choice but to listen to the two mages about the limitations of their capabilities. He suspected that Lord Grey had more power than any of them knew, but he had no way to compel that information from the necromancer. The skull had admitted, shortly after they’d first met, that he could lie, and Lian lacked the magical talent or training to do anything but ask politely, anyhow.

  “Well, one thing is certain,” Lian said with a sigh as he turned to start aft. He didn’t know how long until landfall or when Radiel would resume her attack, so he intended to rest while the skull and sword worked on the wardings. “We’ll find out what she’s planning soon enough.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “The triple crown of the Eternal Emperor is long lost in the past, taken down to the bottom of Tysleth’s realm with the flagship of the Ei’dlasharo fleet. The great Sylvan Forest that once covered three quarters of Shara has dwindled to a mere fraction of its original expanse. The Silei, Avani, and Vileni live apart from each other despite the fact that elven numbers are reduced nearly as much as the forested lands they once controlled.

  “But of everything they have lost, by far the worst blow to them was the alienation of the ei’dlaresh after the war with Peloria. The dragon motif runs throughout elven artwork, is a vital part of their history and culture, and the bond between these two great races seemed unbreakable.

  “It is their sorrow that this is no longer true.”

  -- from “What the Elves Lost,” by Sage Alionur, c. 48 A.R.

  Despite the gold Celewyn had offered Wavecrest’s owners and the degree to which they wanted to accept it, the ship’s dour captain flatly refused to consider taking the caravel out of Kavris’ harborage until the dark moon’s season was over and done.

  “When the Dark Lady’s taken her leave of us, I’ll take my leave of Kavris, and not one hour, not one minute beforehand!” he’d shouted in the owners’ faces while Celewyn watched calmly from the railing.

  The assassin found himself as relieved as he was frustrated by the captain’s stubbornness. He’d seen firsthand some of the terrible things that could happen during Dalshana’s season, as the time she orbited Tieran was called. And while ill omens were sometimes mere superstition, it was also true that they often weren’t, especially in the domain of the fickle Wavelord. Even the great dragonships’ captains had paid heed to the dark moon’s influence, ensuring that the dark gods were well placated if they had to dare the oceans at the height of their influence. So I can’t really fault Captain Haen for not risking his little caravel where the dragonships wouldn’t dare go, he thought with wry amusement.

  It was clear that the owners were intimidated by Haen Bevra, and why not? The man was a giant of a man, just a hand short of seven feet, and built like an ox. His swarthy face and hairy features brought to mind the werewolves of the Southron Empire, and although Celewyn knew he wasn’t one, the owners might not be so sure. Werewolves weren’t exactly rare in the Empire, but they weren’t common, either. Haen may have looked to the layman like he might burst into wolf form at any moment, but he was just a man.

  Other owners might have been able to persuade other captains to make sail before Dalshana’s passing, but it was far more likely that any captain, human, werewolf, or otherwise, would make the same refusal. Celewyn managed to get Haen’s promise that Wavecrest would make sail on the noon-tide the very next day after the dark moon returned to Lushran’s embrace.

  Mighty Lushran would be full and the Hunter’s Moon new, so the noon and midnight tides would be full; if Haen timed his departure right, he’d have the outward stream of the waning tide behind him, adding its current to his speed.

  Haen’s truculent attitude and (to the owners) embarrassing misbehavior had been useful to Celewyn, and he’d bargained the charter down further than he thought he’d be able to because of it. He’d traded Baen a pair of emeralds for an elven trade marker, and then that in turn to a moneylender for a large amount of specie, so his supply of hard currency was at least replenished. He had other valuable things he could redeem for coin, but he had enough for now.

  He’d spent some of that new cash restocking his various supplies with the two local underworld organizations, but both “lords” of the local Thieves’ Guild had been a dearth of information. Either his unknown adversary didn’t exist (which he doubted), hadn’t made contact with the thieves (which was possible), or had enough influence among them that they weren’t going to tell the Avani anything. Or, he supposed, they might have just decided not to tell the Avani anything. One never knew what such mens’ motivation might be.

  In his second stop, he’d converted some of his gold back into gems. It was terribly inefficient, getting at best half the value of his coin, but he’d insisted on picking out the gems he wanted, looking for a piece or pieces that would be useful for what he had in mind. He was fortunate in that regard, finding some nice chunks of jade that would do nicely.

  Although he admitted his worry about being watched could simply be paranoia, he knew deep down that it was true. The feeling hadn’t abated, although it hadn’t gotten worse, and he was sure the watcher existed. The question was, therefore, how much did he know? None of the top suspects was known for being seers, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t good at it anyway. He suspected the kossir-teh priestess was very good at divination, for example.

  If the adversary was a poor diviner, if those magics were particularly challenging for him, he might not have a clear image of any of Celewyn’s actions, and he might not know about the jade frog that was leading the elf to Prince Lian. On the other hand, if Celewyn’s hunter was at least fair with the divining sphere or bowl, he probably had seen the elf use the frog clearly enough to realize it probably pointed at Celewyn’s prey. And if he’s followed me here from Avethiel, the elf thought once again, he’s not hunting me, or he’d have already tried something. And that has to mean he’s after Lian.

  None of that was necessarily true, but in the assassin’s trade one often h
ad to work from incomplete intelligence. He didn’t like to do so, but he was used to not having a complete picture of his mission and its dangers.

  If he lost the jade frog, finding Lian would become much harder, perhaps even impossible. And Lian would be in terrible danger were that to happen because a magician capable of apportation could triangulate on his position with ease. He had no intention of losing the frog, his best chance to locate Lian, but it was very likely to be the primary objective of the other assassin or assassins. That meant that the other seeker was even now making preparations to take the figurine, and though Celewyn was confident in his skills, the enemy was probably highly skilled as well.

  He could think of a dozen ways the other assassin could take the figurine, and he’d have the advantage of surprise coupled with the fact that he’d know what his plan to acquire it would be, and Celewyn would have to react to the attempt without foreknowledge of what the assassin planned. With assassins, being on the defensive was a distinct disadvantage.

  So if he couldn’t be sure he could keep the frog—assuming he kept his life after that—and since it was irreplaceable, he decided to do the next best thing, which was to make preparations to track the frog itself. You’re not the only one who can play with sympathetic magic, my friend, Celewyn thought toward his unseen watcher. If you manage to take the frog, I’ll have to find a way to catch up with you, and I don’t see a way to warn Lian you might be coming, but you won’t lose me completely. He’d just have to hope that Lian and whatever companions were with him could handle the assassin if Celewyn couldn’t find a way to stop him first.

  ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

  Uncertainty. It was a feeling to which Queen Jisa, former Grand Duchess of the Southern Marches, Master sorceress and Mastersinger was unaccustomed, and it felt bitter.

  The binding spell is unraveling, she thought as she gazed down at the one remaining pile of bones in her underground sanctum. The other three circles contained nothing but finely divided ash, for the physical remains of Prince Alec, Prince Keven, and Princess Darwyn had been utterly consumed by the magical backlash of their destruction.

  The usual type of wraith created with necromancy didn’t generate such a reaction when it was destroyed, but Jisa had bound power into these four wraiths. Power to allow them to keep their wits—in that regard, she had failed with Alec, she knew—power to allow the spellsingers to keep their voice and their strength, and power to focus their attention utterly on Lian and their obedience utterly upon her.

  She could, if she so wished, destroy the sad little pile of bones that represented Radiel, and whereas the Undead creature that pursued Lian—damn his eyes! she cursed—would continue to exist, it would degenerate from a greater wraith into a lesser one. Radiel’s power would fade, as would her memories and what little humanity remained to her. She’d still be a wraith; she’d still be dangerous. But even her form would degenerate, Jisa knew, and no one would ever know that she was once the youngest princess of Dunshor.

  It was tempting because the final wraith was exceptionally dangerous to her and Rishak in many different ways. The sheer physical and magical threat was significant, though she was at best a skilled journeyman and not in Jisa’s league. Still, wraiths tended to strike unexpectedly, reaching out of walls or up out of the floors, and even she could be surprised. That wasn’t the worst of it, however. In her present form, she bore the shape, the likeness of the person she’d been. It was illusory, in a way, a shape held because she remembered what she should look like, but it was damning.

  The King and Queen were riding herd on a country that largely hated them for what they’d done to a popular king and queen, for bringing back many of the most infamous of the Theocracy’s mages, and a host of other reasons. But for every rebellious faction, there were a half dozen who were not, either too frightened or too avaricious to oppose them. The nobles of eastern and southern Dunshor were mostly with them, while the northern regions were a forest fire waiting only for a spark to ignite it into fury.

  But that would change if it were revealed how the Usurpers—she was honest enough to call herself and Rishak that, at least in the privacy of her thoughts or their bedroom—were willing to practice the blackest kinds of magic. The kinds the Old Theocracy mages practiced.

  In the days of the Theocracy, most of the wizards were gathered in the capital, where the Wizard-Kings could keep an eye on them, for one thing. The outlying regions and villages of Dunshor had boasted very few of the Witchblood among them, and the excesses of the Theocracy had grown worse and worse, especially in the last decades before Evan’s rebellion. That was no longer true, and every county and duchy had attracted wizards to their service in the years after Evan and Rishak had laid low the power of the Theocracy, the nobles of the outer regions having no wish to be magically undefended again.

  The Theocracy, having a near monopoly on magical power and boasting the vast majority of those on the continent who could lay claim to the title of Master mage, had been able to put down small-scale rebellions with ease. Their command of magic, of summoned creatures like demons or that damnable gryphon who’d flown Lian away from Firavon’s Tower that day, of the Undead legions they had at their beck and call, all combined to make the Theocracy unassailable by the petty nobles and peasantry that suffered under the dark mages’ rule. If what she’d done to Radiel alone were discovered, the resulting insurrection would not be a collection of minor incidents; it would be rebellion on a scale as large as Evan’s, and although the capital still had a greater number of Master mages than any minor county or barony, the total magical superiority the Theocracy had enjoyed was notably absent.

  Gods protect us if the whole truth comes out, she thought with a sigh, brushing an errant lock of her long strawberry-blonde hair out of her face. She didn’t approve of many of the excesses of the Theocracy—their tithe in human beings, for example, was something that had drained the whole country in a variety of unhealthy ways—but she considered the majority of the citizens of Dunshor to be superstitious fools who didn’t understand the wonders that magic could produce. Even dark magic, though she knew that no one outside of a select group (who understood black magic’s utility) would agree with her.

  The people of Dunshor, even many of the southern baronies who’d been loyal to Rishak for decades, would rise up as one against the king and queen, and she had no doubt that the western kingdoms and southern client states would wholeheartedly join in to help bring down this “new Theocracy,” as the fools would very likely call it.

  While the torment she’d visited on her nieces and nephews had been terrible, it had also been necessary. Rishak had eventually recognized this, that they had to resort to using the fallen brothers and sisters to hunt down Lian, but he hadn’t liked it. Truthfully, she hadn’t liked it, either, though the doing of it had been thrilling and challenging. She admitted to herself that she feared the four greater wraiths, and that the world was a better place without three of them in it.

  Well, a better place had they already destroyed Lian, that is, the queen amended in her thoughts.

  If the binding spells on Radiel unwound sufficiently, Jisa would lose the ability to destroy the wraith’s enhancements through destroying her remains. And if that happened, she could no longer be certain where the wraith was or what she was doing. She had woven the whole spell well, with all of the care and skill she had, and even partially frayed the spell was completely effective; that meant that Radiel was wherever Lian was, or nearby, because she was still bound to the queen’s will.

  Her instructions, backed up by the binding spells, had been explicit: do not return until Lian is dead.

  She knew why the spell was unraveling, though it had taken her some days of study to determine it. Radiel was having to innovate, to scheme, perhaps merely to avoid destruction, depending on what kind of allies Lian had attracted to his service. More likely, after whatever had happened to the other three, she was having to make plans in order to overcome Lian’s defenses an
d followers, and that was far outside of the parameters of her mission to find and destroy Lian.

  I assumed it would be so easy, she thought. They’d rush upon him, overwhelming whatever wardings he was carrying and any mercenaries he’d managed to hire, and he’d be dead in moments. They’d return to me here, and I’d destroy them with no one the wiser. She castigated herself for being a fool, for in underestimating Lian, she’d squandered the utter surprise and shocking power the wraiths represented. She should have used them to find him, and then had some of them watch him while the others came and informed her where to send a strike force.

  It was a situation demanding overwhelming force, not overconfidence. She sighed again, knowing what she must now do. Rish needs to know, she thought. I don’t want to tell him. Gods, I don’t. She loved her husband the king, possibly the only person beside herself that warmed her heart. She had tried her best to love both her sons, but Stevan was a hard man to love in the best of circumstances. She’d managed to remain on fairly good terms with Ruthold, but she wasn’t truly close to either of them.

  Truthfully, she didn’t care about what Stevan did to some poor serving girl or other except that it undermined the work that she and their father did. She had no intention of her older son ever ascending to the Dunshorian throne, and once the country was stable again she planned to have more children with Rishak in case something happened to Ruthold, who would make a passing fair king. Rishak, she knew, agreed with her about Stevan, but he loved their younger son almost as much as he loved her (a fact that never failed to amaze and delight her). She’d just been someone of use to him, and easy on the eye, when they’d first met, but they’d quickly grown beyond their initial fumbling lovemaking into a mutual respect that neither had expected.