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

by David J. Houpt

  The feeling of being watched faded whenever the elf appeared to be resting and returned quite shortly after he left the inn. He’d checked carefully for any wardings on the inn itself, as well as physical watchers, and there were none. The conclusion he’d drawn from this was that his adversary could sense when he moved any significant distance. That could mean several things, one of which is that over time the mage had become attuned to the physical link, be it blood or something else. If Celewyn was as skilled as magic as his unknown “friend” was, he might have used such a deep connection against his foe, but while he had significantly more magical talent than his brother Elowyn had possessed, he was no great magician.

  It also implied that the watcher was not all that skilled at divination. If he was a good diviner, or had hired one, then he’d know about the frog already and he would have attacked by now to obtain it. Again, he was making assumptions, but it felt like a good one. Finally, it was certain that the watcher was wearing himself out day by day, and that meant that prior to the Wavecrest’s departure on the next day’s full tide, he was probably going to stop watching for a time. That wasn’t at all certain, but it was probable.

  Unless it’s Sel’ss’rak after all, Celewyn thought with a grim chuckle. Kossir-teh were highly magical beings, and the priestess-assassin’s magical reserves were deep indeed. Of course, if it’s Sel’ss, she knows about the frog already and just hasn’t attacked because she isn’t finished plotting out every moment of my demise. “Bad diviner” wasn’t an epithet he’d ever be tempted to lay on her.

  Wavecrest and Celewyn would never be able to outrun a mage who could teleport, and that was working in the Avani’s favor at the moment because it meant the other assassin didn’t feel any particular pressure to strike now. Celewyn was going where the other needed him to go and couldn’t get away without significant magical help, after all. He didn’t know if the enemy slayer was going to hire his own ship, use flight to pursue them (whether by spell or by flying mount), or simply teleport in when his scrying lost contact. Lian’s enemies knew full well that the prince was well shielded against divination of any sort, so Celewyn’s sudden disappearance from the monitoring spell would signal that Lian was close at hand. He supposed the assassin might even stow away aboard Wavecrest, but there weren’t too many places he could do that unobserved.

  Do I lure him in? he pondered. He could start using the figurine again, let the watcher get a good long look at it and how it worked. It might provoke him into attacking head-on, and Celewyn was as prepared for that as he could be. The best time to do that, however was past. If he was correct, and the watcher was exhausted, the scrying would soon stop and he could act unobserved for a time. He had already prepared the two sympathetic figurines which could be used to track the first one, working that magic whenever he felt the watcher’s gaze slip away.

  He’d been up for five days straight now, but he wasn’t close to the limits of his endurance yet. Each “rest” period was spent feeling for the watcher’s touch and then experimenting with the limits of his freedom from being observed. It was in this way he’d learned that the watcher could tell when he moved significantly but could not tell if Celewyn was active. If he left the inn, the watcher was back in short order, but if he stayed within the building (much less his room), even if he was active, the watcher stayed away, no doubt trying to get some rest himself. Celewyn had tested this, practicing aythra or his bladework, or sitting or lying quietly, and the watcher’s attention stayed null after the elf waited long enough for it to flag.

  No, he decided. Giving him more information is more likely to help him than me. He hated just waiting for the assassin to pounce, but there was little he could do about it. Of course, if the enemy caster had chosen to teleport into Celewyn’s presence to catch the Avani off guard, he’d get a nasty surprise. Celewyn was no great mage, and like his brother Elowyn, he utilized the small semiprecious stone figurines as storehouses for spells to enhance his personal abilities. One of those figurines, an onyx bear, was enchanted to react to apportation within any short distance. The ward bound within the bear was intended to stun a teleporting opponent, and he had a high degree of faith in its effectiveness.

  He hoped that his enemy didn’t know Celewyn was alerted to him; the fact that the Avani hadn’t purchased any kind of anti-scrying ward certainly implied the scryer was undiscovered, in any event. If so, he might assume that teleporting in for a smash and grab would be the shortest and most certain path, and it would be Celewyn who would have the advantage instead of his adversary.

  Oh yes, my friend, he thought. Use that hard-won knowledge to teleport into my presence and take the frog, if you please. If Ashira was with him, maybe he’d be that lucky, and he could eliminate this threat to himself and to Prince Lian and get back to the business of catching up with the fugitive nobleman and introducing himself.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Ni’ka saael’k ar me’shriv da!

  Let the Gods of the Inner Darkness bear witness!

  -- Kj’ul ma’nak, or Unbroken Word, a goblinish oath

  The steady trade winds that had given them steerage and some southward progress had slowed and then completely stilled that morning, leaving the ship becalmed and its small jib sail at first fluttering gently in irons and then hanging limply from the mast. Lian ordered the jib reefed in case the calm presaged a strong front, but that proved unnecessary, as Indigo Runner drifted quietly in the westward current. Using the navigator’s compass, Lian could pinpoint their location to within a few sea leagues, relative to Kavris at least, and by evening he could see that they were being carried northwest, deeper out to sea.

  Being becalmed, usually, was a sailor’s worst nightmare, but Naryn, Virinos, and Jinian took it in stride, and Mikos was inexperienced enough that he just followed their lead. Lian joined Naryn at the helm while Virinos and Snog played at sixes against the galley wall forward of them. Just relieved, Mikos and Jinian were in the galley chowing down on the food Naryn had left in the cauldron for them. Although the morale among the crew left much to be desired, it certainly couldn’t be blamed on bad food because Naryn saw no reason to restrict what the six of them ate to the cheaper fare normally fed to the sailors.

  “Not much steering to do, Captain,” the grizzled old cook said, spitting clean over the rail on the side away from Lian. The wheel stood still even though it was unpinned.

  Lian nodded. “You and the other seasoned men don’t seem that worried about the winds,” he observed. “On Searcher, we wouldn’t have been this calm about being becalmed.” He didn’t care for puns, avoiding them whenever he could, but he knew that the cook was taken with them so he’d made the mild pun deliberately.

  True to form, Naryn laughed at the quip, poor that it was. Lian had seen for himself that Naryn wasn’t the sort to grovel or ingratiate himself with others, even someone as lofty as the ship’s captain, so he was pretty sure the cook actually did find the pun funny. Mikos, on the other hand, would have laughed in order to try to win Lian’s favor. Lian preferred the honesty of the cook, even if he didn’t trust the man in other ways.

  “In these waters, Captain Alan,” the cook replied after he’d had his laugh, “it’s not something to worry about overmuch.”

  Lian cocked his head, not seeing the man’s point. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I thought none of you had come this far west before?”

  The cook smiled as he leaned against the wheel, producing a large lime and peeling it as he talked to Lian. The variety of lime they’d obtained in Avethiel was extremely sour, but Naryn seemed to like his citrus that way and ate the segments regularly and with gusto. “It’s not the longitude that’s the issue,” he explained as his knife worked on the lime, leaving the fruit without a touch of the white rind, but wasting almost none of the meat. “At this latitude the winds blow year-round, except for rare days like this,” he said, gesturing vaguely with the knife. “In northern waters, it’s my understanding that Shara and the
Eastern Lands block the trade winds in certain regions, but down here, all along the Vellan coast, the winds are reliable.”

  “Hmm,” Lian murmured, leaning on the other end of the wheel in a seemingly relaxed pose, a short six or seven feet from Naryn’s sharp knife. In point of fact, he carefully maintained his balance and was ready to react if the cook took this particular moment to try his luck. He relaxed as Naryn swung around to the forward side of the wheel so he could glance aft through the spokes at Lian while still keeping his attention on the lime. He had more than half of it peeled now, and the rind hung down below his hands.

  “I’ve never heard of a ship staying becalmed in the south for more than a few days, a week at most,” the cook continued. “And we’ve got supplies for months if it came to that, so starving or thirsting isn’t going to be a problem. The duty’s light and so long as that creature that attacked us stays away, no problems, aye?”

  Lian saw an opportunity in the cook’s words, and took it. “She knows that she’s no match for my two companions’ magic,” he said. “If she comes anywhere near Indigo Runner, they’ll know long before she can do anything.”

  “That’s well and good for you, sir,” Naryn said, his eyes narrowing as he paused his peeling. “But she did for the rest o’ the crew just fine despite your, um, companions, the first time.”

  Lian shook his head. “We had three spellsingers attacking us then, remember?” he said patiently, while schooling his voice to avoid sounding patronizing. “The storm, trying to keep Runner from heeling over, it was too much all at once.”

  Naryn’s eyes searched Lian’s face—actually, still Alan’s face, as Gem was still maintaining the illusion—for guile or falsehood, and Lian looked back at him confidently, meeting his eyes. “If she attacks now, she would be destroyed, and she knows this,” the prince said, moving around the wheel to stand closer to Naryn.

  You’re too close for me to stop him… Gem said to herself, not wanting to distract Lian. It wouldn’t save Naryn’s life if he harmed her wielder, but that would be small consolation if Lian were killed. Almost too low for her to hear it, she heard Lord Grey begin thrumming. She didn’t know what it was, though it couldn’t be a spellsong; those always carried, even if the singer tried to sing pianissimo. She could sense faint magic gathering, she assumed some kind of defensive enchantment. Or something that will kill Naryn instantly, she thought, before he can bring the knife home. Something to ask the necromancer about later, to be sure.

  “Naryn,” Lian said, reaching a hand up to clasp the man’s shoulder, “she can’t surprise us, and she can’t overcome Indigo Runner’s magicians.” He gave a deep sigh, continuing with a hoarser voice. “My sister was very intelligent,” he said, clearing his throat, “and I don’t doubt she’s trying to find a way around our defenses, but she was too young to be a Master mage and we have two on our side.” He’d recently learned from Snog that the wraiths had used the word brother in a way that had carried to everyone on board, so he decided to use that.

  “T-too young?” Naryn said, taken aback that Lian was sharing this information with him.

  Lian nodded grimly, his right eye watering slightly. He wiped the brimming tear away, but Gem noted that his left eye was still on Naryn’s knife hand. Goddess, he’s clever sometimes, Gem thought, amazed despite herself.

  Unaware of his sword’s thoughts, Lian said, “She was only fourteen that day in Dunshor Castle, and she didn’t survive the night. However she became the wraith that attacked us, she’s still that same age and limited to the magic she’d learned up to then.”

  The cook nodded slightly at first, and then more firmly. “So that’s why she hasn’t come back,” he said thoughtfully. “She’s just a girl, and you’ve got Masters at your disposal.”

  Lian sniffed, and looked like he was trying not to cry before the sailor. “Not a girl, anymore. She’s Undead; don’t forget it for a second. She’d drain any of us dry in a heartbeat, and she’s very dangerous, but my two mages are far beyond her capabilities.”

  Naryn’s eyes had been looking at the wheel reflectively, but they snapped to Lian’s face. “Why share this with me, Your Highness?” he asked, for the first time acknowledging aloud what Lian and his friends were certain the crew already knew. “She was your sister, they were all your family, yes? I can’t begin to grasp how much that must wound you.”

  Lian allowed anger to reach his eyes, and Gem thought for the first time he was showing Naryn what he was really feeling. “No you can’t,” he said, his lip curling in rage and his voice so filled with hate in those two words that Naryn found himself taking an involuntary step backward. Lian whipped around to face away from the cook, though Gem didn’t fail to notice that he’d also moved a full pace further away from him. It was still too close, but with her telepathic warning and Elowyn’s martial training, it was something.

  “My apologies, Naryn,” the prince said. “You’re not who I’m angry at, and I shouldn’t have…”

  Gem winced as Naryn took a step forward, but the hand that came up to clasp Lian’s shoulder held no knife; the cook had pushed it into the lime. “It’s me who should beg your pardon, Captain,” he said quickly. “You honor me, confiding these things, and you can be sure I’ll keep my silence on the matter.”

  Lian nodded stiffly. “Thank you,” he said. “Your discretion is appreciated, and I’ll reward it if I can.” Before dawn, Lian knew, the whole tale, properly embellished as all seaman’s tales were, would be known by the entire ship’s company. He felt a little sick, using his grief and his sister’s plight to manipulate the crew, and his heavy gait as he descended the stair wasn’t at all feigned.

  He went below to Qan’s cabin, and after glancing about to ensure one of the crew hadn’t somehow slipped in here ahead of him, he buried his face in his hands. “Are you alright, my son?” Gem asked aloud.

  Lian snorted into his hands, then rubbed his face furiously and used both hands to push his hair back. “Not really, but I’ll live, Gem,” he said, his voice still husky. Tears welled but didn’t spill over, and he shook his head hard to restrain them. “At least I think so.”

  “That was deftly done,” she said gently. “He’ll be rethinking the wisdom of slitting your throat, I imagine.”

  Lian shrugged. “Maybe, unless he decides I was just trying to trick him,” he said.

  “I don’t believe so,” Lord Grey said. “You were not acting for the majority of it, and I’m sure he could sense that on some level. Besides, he’ll be wanting to be reassured that the princess is not going to get him, that he’s safe from her.”

  “I agree,” Gem stated. “The others will latch onto this as well, not just because of that, but because it makes a good tale they can tell others when they reach port.”

  The prince chuckled harshly. “It’d loosen more than a few legs in the bawdy houses, wouldn’t it?” he said sarcastically, finding himself offended by this ribald thought regardless of his best efforts to be objective. He cut himself off, apologizing to sword and skull both.

  “No apologies needed, Lian,” Gem said, and Lord Grey murmured his agreement. “That was hard, I could tell, and if it helps keep them from thinking of mutiny, then it’s necessary.”

  “In the long term, it matters little,” Lian said with a deep and ragged sigh. “They know who I am and what kind of price is on my head. As soon as we near civilization, we only have one option in regard to the crew.”

  Gem knew that was true and it haunted her, though not as much as it haunted Lian. It was her nature to be a weapon, and that meant, like it or not, that killing was part of her purpose. Queen Adrienne had forged her to excel at all of her functions, including that one. The four sailors weren’t the best men in the world, but they were far, far from the worst, and the simple matter was that they knew too much to allow them out of their control, even for a single night in the taverns or brothels of a coastal village.

  “If a means to spare them presents itself,” the skull
said, “I presume you would like to pursue it?” He’d had something to say about the need to eliminate the crewmen when Lian had first brought it up, but he’d been silent on the matter until now.

  Lian blinked down at the skull in its leather sack. “Of course I would!” he said firmly. “If you know how…”

  Lord Grey interrupted him. “Not now, but I have been thinking upon it,” the necromancer said. “I can see that it bothers you, and I know it must bother Gem as well. I suspect that our goblin friend is far too practical to be troubled by slitting a few throats in your service, but I will simply say that I don’t like the idea much, either. Not for any altruistic reason—the fate of far more than four men rides on your shoulders, Your Highness—but for the reason that if you are forced to kill them, it will add to the tally you already count for the Deathlord’s ferryman. It’s already quite a burden.”

  Lian chuckled, joined by Gem.

  “What?” the skull asked a little sharply.

  “You are often charming, my Lord Skull,” Lian said with a faint smile, “but never more so than when you regale us with such quaint turns of phrase. I’ve read that phrase, about the ferryman’s tally, many times in various books, but I’ve never actually heard it aloud.”

  And you well knew that, I wager, Gem thought to herself, surprised when Lian echoed her sentiment along their mental bond. She extended a mental hug to her wielder, pleased that Lian thought in those terms. Maybe he doesn’t trust the skull as much as he seems to, she thought, and that was a good thing.

  Two days later, the wind began to pick up. Although the older men had put on an uncaring mien about being becalmed, Lian and Snog both noticed that they greeted the increasing breeze with enthusiasm. Whatever Naryn had told Lian about the winds of the southern ocean, the prince supposed that no sailor liked to drift aimlessly.