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

by David J. Houpt

  It was Rishak’s regard for her that filled her with a feeling of insecurity, she realized. He’d put his trust in her for this dark bit of necromancy, and she’d worked hard to convince him it was the right thing to do, that the bindings would hold them completely unable to disobey her, that the risks were minimal. And she had believed they had been minimal. She lied easily to anyone, as the need arose, but she’d always been honest with the king, even in the earliest days of their relationship. Would he now think she’d deceived him—or perhaps, herself—about the whole affair?

  She would rather face a ninth-order demon without a protective circle than lose Rishak’s love and trust, and that was why she had no choice: he needed to know.

  She heard the door to the sanctum open, felt the wardings taste the intruder and recognize him as being allowed in this place, and those wardings only recognized and approved two people in all the world. She could hear his bootsteps descend the stair. If she wished, she could link up with the series of warding spells to watch him, but she knew his gait as well as her own. She met him at the bottom of the stairs, swallowing nervously. If he rejects me…she thought in agony, then clamped down on her fears to give her husband a thin smile.

  “Why did you want to meet me down here?” the king asked as he crossed to her to draw her into his powerful embrace. He wore upon his brow the circlet bearing the seal of Dunshor. Once this symbol had been a burning stave, but Evan had changed it after the rebellion. Now it was a crossed sword and staff with a four-pointed star in each of its four quarters. Rishak much preferred the circlet to wearing the full crown of state, and Jisa didn’t blame him, for the state crowns for king and queen were heavy and uncomfortable. “Is something wrong?” he whispered into her ear, stroking her hair back affectionately.

  She swallowed again. “There is, my husband, and we must consider carefully what we do from this point on,” she said, pulling back from him gently to look up into his spell-scarred face and into his dark blue eyes, so different than his brother’s had been. She’d been present when the wound had been inflicted, and it had never horrified her as it had so many others; to her, it was just part of his face.

  He nodded somberly. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it, beloved,” he said. He glanced over at the small pile of bones that had once been his youngest niece.

  She nodded back. “Yes, it involves her,” she said huskily, clearing her throat. “The binding spell is beginning to unravel, I believe because she’s having to improvise outside of the orders I gave her.”

  He looked down at her, giving her striking green eyes his full attention. “Can you predict the degeneration well enough to control the danger she represents if she becomes unbound? Or should we take more drastic actions?” he asked, and her heart pounded, not in fear, but in love, because it was a reasoned response rather than the fury she’d feared. In all the years they’d been together, she’d seen his temper unleashed many times, but never at her, though she’d sometimes given him a reason or two, a time or two, even three. She was a headstrong and stubborn woman at times, but Rishak seemed to have nearly infinite patience with her (and she, she supposed, with him).

  “How are you staying so calm?” she asked, impressed with her non-magical husband’s immediate understanding of the situation.

  He smiled, stroking the side of her face with the back of his fingers. “Because you’d have destroyed the bones if it was already out of control,” he said. “You think we should let her continue her attempt to kill her brother until it unravels too much to be safe.

  “I know you, Jisa,” the Usurper King said. “You have our interests firmly fixed in your heart, and you are the expert here. Just as I would expect you to trust in my judgment in the political or military arena, I trust yours in this.”

  The relief she was feeling was almost enough to make her knees give way, and she clutched him close. “I thought you’d…” she began.

  He interrupted. “Be angry with you? Think you’ve overreached and doomed us both?” he asked, humor laced with affection in his voice. “Never in this life, my queen. I didn’t like what we did to them, but I took my part in it. I have been around magic and mages for a very long time and I know that even the best magic can fail,” he continued, holding her gently, “just as I know that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy for more than a few moments. I only care whether you think we can control this, or not.”

  She had always hated many of the ladies at court, the ones who would burst into tears at the least provocation, but she wept into her husband’s tunic unashamedly. She nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Yes, for now, but I’ll need to stay in the palace so I can monitor this regularly,” she said, looking up again to cast a smile upon him.

  He nodded. “Don’t bother to consult me,” he said. “If you think it’s time to burn the bones or take other action against her, you have my full support.”

  She kissed him and he returned it with as much ardor as ever, and although she felt a great deal of worry about what the last wraith was doing, Queen Jisa found she was uncertain no more.

  ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

  Although the weather had remained calm, the ship was intact except for the masts and sails, and they had plenty of food and water to last months adrift, morale on Indigo Runner was not good. Lian, aided by Snog, the necromancer, and especially Gem, was finding ways to bear the horror and grief of recent events, and the prince’s native confidence was beginning to reassert itself to the relief of the other three. He was under a lot of strain at the moment—that was likely something he’d have to live with—but he was handling it.

  Snog always took what came with a large degree of equanimity. He worried about what the sister-wraith was planning, and he was constantly on guard against the remaining crewmen, but he was also exceptionally practical in nature. He would leave what was beyond him to others and deal with what was within his capabilities.

  The four other survivors, however, were not handling things as well as the goblin. They knew as well as Lian and Snog did that the fourth wraith was out there somewhere and that she’d be back for them when it was to her advantage. Lian didn’t think that they realized exactly who she was—the names of the royal house of Dunshor weren’t exactly common knowledge among Southron sailors—but they certainly knew who Lian was and that she was hunting him.

  Lian thought that the only reason they hadn’t tried to mutiny and then put Lian overboard for the wraith to find alone was that Lian commanded not one but two spellcasters. To the crew’s perception, both of the spellsingers were as powerful, or even more powerful, than the wraith. Lord Grey was almost certainly more powerful, more knowledgeable, and more talented than Radiel’s poor shade, but Gem wasn’t; she had seemed so because she’d unwoven every hostile magic that had been hurled their way. The crew had no way of knowing that this was what she’d been made for.

  Fear of the spellcasters—one of whom, Lord Grey, they’d never even seen—was part of their continued loyalty, but the crew probably also saw the two mages as protection against the wraith. Who was to say, if they put Lian overboard and somehow managed to get rid of the skull and sword, that the wraith wouldn’t just devour their souls anyhow?

  Naryn seemed to be Lian’s most steadfast ally, keeping the others in check, but the prince thought he was probably the one doing the most plotting against them. The man had revealed his greed as he’d gone through the personal effects of the slain crewmembers and kept most of what he’d found. He wasn’t aware that the necromancer could perceive things far out of his line of sight and probably believed no one knew about his hoard. He’d been smart enough to leave most of the less valuable items behind in his scavenging, including coins, and had actually taken a quarter share of those when the other three sailors gathered them up at Lian’s suggestion. Lian and Snog had not taken a share of these grave goods, instead taking Qan’s cabin and its contents—far more valuable than anything the crew or even the Quivells had owned—for themselves.
r />   Virinos was variable day to day. At night, he was one hundred percent predictable, a study in terror at the edge of madness. He huddled close to whoever would allow him, usually Naryn, and jumped at shadows. During the day, he was sometimes lucid, sometimes crazed almost to a frenzy, and sometimes almost catatonic. He seemed to like Lian and Snog, and Lian had worked to make Vir know that his seamanship was very much appreciated and respected. But Lian had seen murder in his eyes over minor things too many times since the attack to trust him to even a tiny degree. Vir, Lian suspected, would be the one to try to stab him in the back at some point. And not for any rational reason, either.

  The rigger, Mikos, was as superstitious as Virinos was crazy, and had painted the officer’s cabin he shared with Jinian with representations of the holy symbols which he’d taken off of each of the dead crewmen as they levered them over the side. He was carrying what appeared to be a quarterweight of holy symbols, though Lian had calculated it was only at most half that, and he jingled and clanked wherever he went. If he went over the side, the mass of the holy symbols, most of them tied about his arms and his neck, would drag him down, but he seemed to fear drowning far less than he feared the Undead.

  Mikos’s superstitious fear was mostly directed at the remaining wraith, but both of Lian’s spellcasters spooked him terribly. It would not be a hard thing to convince him that getting rid of all three: prince, sword, and whatever was in the sack, would be the best way to purge evil from Indigo Runner. The rigger wouldn’t instigate that—he feared Gem and Lord Grey too much—but he would almost certainly support it.

  Of the surviving sailors, the one that Lian worried about the least was the slow-of-thought Jinian. As experienced as Cedrick, the Searcher’s captain, the sailor knew nearly everything about running a ship. If Lian needed something done he could tell Jinian (in nautical terms; landsman terms confused him) and it would be done, and done well. Lian had learned quickly, however, that Jinian couldn’t be trusted to come up with his own instructions. Nor could he keep a list of actions more than three or four ahead straight in his mind.

  Lian didn’t know what Jinian would do if a mutiny occurred, but he suspected the big man would simply do what he was bid, by whoever seemed to be in charge. Snog had managed to develop a friendship with the simple man, for they both liked woodcarving and whittling, and they spent a lot of their off-shift working companionably together. Lian knew Snog had done this deliberately as a form of insurance against Jinian joining any mutiny, and he supposed it might make a difference when the time came.

  None of the crew knew how sharp the skull and sword’s senses were, though. Any plotting they might do was very likely to be overheard, and he doubted they realized it. The skull had simply told him that Naryn and Mikos had talked about whether to let Lian take command the first evening after the attack and had agreed to do so.

  It’s possible they won’t dare mutiny at all, Lian thought to Gem. The situation’s pretty grim, and any plan that gets rid of me would have to get rid of you and Lord Grey. That would leave them completely open to my sister when she returns.

  Gem agreed. They were standing another helm watch, rainclouds scattered across the waters in several places around them. Light rain had washed over the ship a few times, barely enough to wet Lian’s clothes. You’re assuming rational thought, the sword pointed out, but you’re probably right. They don’t know that it’s likely Radiel will head back north if you were to suddenly die.

  Lian disagreed and told her so. They know she’s hunting me, so it must have occurred to Naryn at least that if I’m dead she has no reason to attack the rest. What they certainly don’t realize, since they don’t know much about navigation, is that if they kill me she can’t track my location anymore. In that case, she probably wouldn’t be able to find Indigo Runner again if she searched for weeks.

  Gem turned that over in her mind. That’s probably a good assumption, she conceded. I have no intention of any of them finding that out, mind you.

  Though no trace of emotion reached his face, Lian’s mental touch was a brief smirk at Gem’s statement. The two of them had been practicing concealing their mental conversations from the necromancer and, incidentally, any other observer. Lord Grey had shown an amazing ability to tell when they were talking to each other, and if he could see it on Lian’s face, it was possible that others could as well. Privately, both Lian and Gem suspected Lord Grey knew Lian too well to be easily fooled about the mental communication between sword and wielder. The prince was schooling his movements, mannerisms, and expressions when he spoke to Gem, but it was a work in progress.

  A work that he gets to watch day by day as Lian practices it, Gem thought to herself. No, Lord Grey knows when Lian’s talking to me, or listening to me, I doubt it not, she decided with a mental shrug. But if it keeps someone else from realizing Lian’s in telepathic communication with someone or something, it’s still a useful skill to develop.

  That Lord Grey hadn’t commented on their continued communication (after initial comments about how rude it was to do so in front of him) didn’t mean a thing. The old necromancer was incredibly patient, extremely cunning, and intelligent, and Gem didn’t place any degree of deception beyond his capabilities. Gem knew that Lian didn’t believe it to be particularly important to hide their communication from Lord Grey, that for the most part her wielder trusted the skull-bound mage. Lian worked to make their mental communion a subtle thing unmarked by outsiders because it was something he didn’t want other people stumbling across.

  She doubted anyone would realize that Lian was talking to her; there wasn’t any outward sign of her telepathic bond to her wielder, unlike the green glow given off by the emerald in her hilt if she moved under her own power. They might realize Lian was talking to someone, however, and that was information that he didn’t want anyone having. Consequently, Lian planned at some point to just ask the skull directly if he had noticed that the communication was going on.

  You trust that man, that thing, too much, my son, Gem thought, probably for the thousandth time, she reflected. Even the gryphon Gilaeshar, who’d known the skull in ages past, had warned the sword, and later Lian, that he didn’t know the nature of the necromancer’s crime to have warranted such a terrible punishment. On the other hand, Gil had also said, I have had cause to trust him in the past, and the two seemed to have at least some level of mutual respect. Further, Lian was a very good judge of character, and he liked and trusted Lord Grey, so perhaps she was being paranoid.

  Someone has to be paranoid about him, Gem thought. She had come to both like the ancient wizard and to respect his knowledge, abilities, and talents, so she felt a little awkward at times keeping such a close eye on him, but a choice between Lian and Lord Grey wasn’t a choice at all.

  Chapter Twenty One

  “The excesses of the Theocracy had increased century by century, as the nation forgot its origins in white magic and became philosophically amoral. Any action that furthered the understanding of magic, the power of mages, or created a new avenue of magical research was considered beneficial to the country.

  “When the alliance broke the back of the Theocracy, we didn’t fully fathom the depth of hatred for the Witchbreed those excesses, those crimes against the innocent, had created. The backlash against anyone who dared exhibit the least magical power was at times terrible, and much of Evan and Rishak’s early efforts were spent trying to police communities who would happily burn any mage they could get their hands on.

  “That mages had made the defeat of the Theocracy possible didn’t matter, and even today, many villages are unsafe for practitioners of any stripe. The ancient practice of building wizard schools as fortress-towers was rekindled to create some kind of haven for young people with Witchblood in their veins, at least those not fortunate to find service in a nobleman’s retinue.

  “It has been a difficult struggle, as hard as carrying out the rebellion itself, to slowly drain away this anti-wizard sentiment to the poi
nt where it is today. The wise among the nobles and the people understand that destroying all mages in Dunshor is to invite ruin, and it’s been hard, indeed, to get that point across to the common man. Even now, the peace is an uneasy one.”

  -- from “Rebuilding Dunshor” by Queen Adrienne dú Norit Written 2722–2723 PE to chronicle the aftermath of the rebellion

  Any good set of navigator’s charts included a detailed atlas of the thirty-year moon cycle, and a good navigator is at least a fair astronomer, especially in regard to the positions of the moons. It was vitally important, for example, to know Ashira’s position relative to Tieran, in order to judge the Moon of Luck’s effect on magnetic compasses.

  One of the most important lunar considerations was to plot exactly the entry into and exit out of Tieran orbit by the smallest of all of the moons, the moon Dalshana. Orbiting the combined Tieran-Lushran bodies once every 182 days, the dark moon made two orbits of Tieran every year. Each of these two “dark seasons” were considered times of evil and misfortune, when Bes and Dalshana worked together to bring woe to the world. It was a time when the unquiet dead were more likely to rise, when black magic was more powerful, and when white magic was at its weakest. Their starting and ending points were very carefully plotted against the phases of Lushran and Aliera, and just as carefully marked on any calendar, northern or Southron.

  It was well known, therefore, that Dalshana would cross into Tieran’s orbit on the 323rd day of the year and depart it on the 13th day, and reenter Tieran’s orbit on the 169th day of the year and depart it on the 195th day. On the 169th day, Lushran was one day past full every year and Aliera was new; on the 195th day, Lushran was a day short of the full moon and Aliera again new.

  It was, therefore, with great relief that Lian observed the phases of the two largest moons. Just as Lushran was showing his face on the horizon, casting his light across the waves, Aliera was a tiny sliver setting in the west just behind Rula Golden. Only Aliera’s proximity to Tieran at that time allowed one to see her following the sun so closely below the horizon, and usually only observatories built on very high ground or ships at sea could see her, even then.