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

by David J. Houpt

  They’re deferring to him, but I think the goblin doesn’t trust the men aren’t going to slit his master’s throat, he thought as he watched. Lian, or rather the dark-haired Staikali he pretended to be, seemed fairly comfortable around the men. The goblin scout, on the other hand, watched the men carefully but stealthily with glittering eyes.

  They’re going to set watches, the assassin thought. I’ll need to attack near dawn, when the goblin’s least likely to be on watch. He expected the goblin to be assigned to the deepest dark of the night, given his ability to see in the darkness.

  None of the men appeared to use any magic as they dined and then picked up their mess gear, cleaning it with the sand of the beach. None of them are officers, Ammon thought with a grin. They’re minding their own crockery.

  He was a little surprised that the prince did so as well, but he supposed that after a shipwreck was not the best time to put on airs of nobility. He was quite surprised, conversely, that as the sun set and the stars and moons began to appear, the men all appeared to be able to see in the dark. Such magic was fairly easy to come by if one had money, but mere seamen certainly didn’t warrant such a thing.

  Mercenary warriors he hired before he left, then? Ammon thought, scratching his chin. It wasn’t impossible that an elite force of commandoes might have such magical charms at their disposal, but it also might mean there was a wizard down there. However, his careful inquiries around Avethiel had not indicated that “Alan” had boarded Indigo Runner with any companions save the goblin.

  He discarded the possibility on that basis and the fact that none of them showed the inevitable signs of strain that sustaining four or five such spells at the same time would entail, depending on whether Lian had something permanent or if he was being granted witchsight by the same enchantment as the sailors. The group’s ability to see in the dark was not a significant hindrance to him, and it did simplify planning a time to attack; no time would be more advantageous than any other, since he didn’t know the watch schedule and he didn’t have the leisure to observe them for days to learn it.

  It had been a long day flying and then waiting for his quarry, and he was far out of reach up on the cliff summit, even if they somehow discovered he was there. Ammon’s magical reserves were not drastically depleted, but against five armed men and a goblin he wanted to be at his best, especially if he had to teleport in a hurry after casting a number of battle magics. Withdrawing from the edge of the cliff, the assassin allowed the unseeing spell to fade and settled himself in to sleep. Tomorrow, after the dawn, Lian would die.

  ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

  “Zu kev’ed’va li dor?” Snog asked Lian quietly as they knelt next to each other, using the sand to scrub out their pans. Lian had been kneeling, his job half-done, looking out to sea with a distracted look.

  “Hmm?” Lian replied softly. “I’m not sure anything’s wrong, Snog. It’s a feeling like being watched, but that doesn’t seem likely.” The Key of Firavon protected Lian and those he traveled with from divination magic, after all.

  “Is it the princess?” the goblin asked. Lian had demonstrated some level of awareness of the four wraiths, including the strong impression that Radiel had stayed in Vella to deal Lian a deadly blow.

  Lian bent himself to scrubbing, thinking. Manual labor, even such a small task as cleaning a pan, always helped him think. “No, I don’t think so. If she were anywhere nearby, Lord Grey would have warned us by now, anyway.”

  “True,” Lord Grey said just as quietly. “If she were close enough to use magic of any kind on us, I would know it. Also, this feeling of Lian’s is not necromantic in nature or I’d have sensed it, too.”

  Lian finished scrubbing his pan and stood, banging it against his thigh to knock the sand out. He turned to the men and said, “Snog and I are going to walk the perimeter, and we’ll take first watch. Get some sleep.” All four nodded willingly enough, but Lian could see they’d all been trying to listen to the conversation. The men didn’t like it when Lian and Snog (and the two spellsingers) had time and opportunity to converse alone, and for the last two days, they’d arranged, seemingly by accident, to have someone in earshot the entire time.

  But now, with Lian giving direct instructions, they couldn’t stay close enough to hear without disobeying, and whatever their level of mistrust or fear of Lian and his odd trio of companions, they weren’t at the point of such defiance. Yet, Lian thought to Gem, and felt her agreement over their bond. Virinos, in particular, watched their progress around the campsite with half-lidded and suspicious eyes.

  “You didn’t feel it, too?” Lian asked quietly as they walked, placing his arm on Snog’s shoulder as they walked, pretending to be talking to the goblin.

  Snog shook his head, though he knew his lord wasn’t talking to him.

  “I felt nothing,” Lord Grey replied. “Perhaps some predator or fey creature is watching from the saltmarshes or up on the cliff heights.” The prince and scout resisted their respective urges to glance inland or at the cliffs to the south because if something was, or had been, watching them, they didn’t want to alert the creature or creatures to the fact they were suspicious.

  “Perhaps,” Lian murmured. “If it happens again, I’ll let you all know. In the meantime, they’ve either masked their presence somehow, they’ve departed, or my intuition was misleading me and there is no ‘they.’ In any event, we should definitely be on alert for trouble.”

  Snog snorted. “It’s not like we weren’t already, my lord,” he said, fingering the haft of the magic dagger that had been a gift from Lian for the bravery he had shown in the battle outside of Greythorn City. Lian nodded grimly before signaling Snog to proceed ahead of him around the camp; they’d end up on opposite sides and patrol accordingly.

  I don’t know what that feeling meant, Lian thought to Gem, but it wasn’t some dumb beast. He wished he understood this other sense he had, or use it on command, but it seemed to have a mind of its own. He also wished he could trust the second sight he seemed to possess, but he had no way of judging how accurate or inaccurate it was.

  Don’t worry, my son, Gem replied. I’m ready to defend us, and that’s a lot of beach to cross without me or Lord Grey spotting an enemy before they can reach striking range. The sword and skull both kept watch twenty-four hours a day, though Lian had tried not to grow too reliant upon that. Lian nodded slightly, knowing the sharp senses of the sword wouldn’t miss the gesture. He scanned the seas and the beach, treeline, and cliff, but the feeling of being watched did not return.

  ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

  The permanent enchantments woven into his tunic included ones to keep him warm and dry, so Ammon awoke comfortable and refreshed. The evening before, he’d found a soft stretch of ground with only one big rock to be dug up and tossed aside; easy enough to do with petty magic. He broke fast with dried meat, nuts, and berries, finishing it off with a long drink from a special ceramic flask he carried at all times.

  The flask preserved its contents and kept them at his preferred temperature, and he used it to keep the strong green coffee he’d favored ever since he was a boy. The Eastern coffee gave most who drank it the jitters, but he’d been able to enjoy it for countless years, even come to rely upon it to become fully awake in the morning. The hot, strong stimulant worked its familiar if mundane magic, and he went through his morning preparations carefully, checking his weapons and the few material components he needed for some of his spells.

  It was near dawn, and Aliera was still more than three quarters full in the middle of the western sky; Lushran would be rising at dawn, but the Moon of Power was in the new phase and wouldn’t be visible. All of the other moons were below the horizon. The singular silver moon leached all color from the land around him, rendering everything in shades of white, gray, and black. The Moon of Beasts was not at an angle, however, to cast her shadow down the cliff side or onto the beach below—he’d chosen his vantage point to avoid this possibility, of course. He re-cast the unseeing spel
l and then crept back to the edge to look down at the camp below and to his west.

  The two men on watch were standing with their backs to the fire, clearly tired and bored, but remarkably observant. Well trained or frightened of something? Ammon wondered, for in his experience men-at-arms and sailors both looked for opportunities to “rest their eyes” whenever they thought a sergeant or officer wasn’t watching. No matter. He’d descend upon them in a flash, cast a lightning spell into the prince’s sleeping form, and then put a poison dart deep into the goblin’s body—the most dangerous remaining opponent, he had decided—from the wrist launcher he wore. He expected it to be much more effective against a lightly armored goblin than it had been against Sileth.

  He would then use their campfire against them, blasting sparks and smoke from it to create confusion as he landed on the sands. Then he’d begin picking them off as they stumbled from the smoke and cinders. They’d be frightened from the sudden attack of a spellsinger anyhow, and although Lian and the goblin carried crossbows, the rest of them had no ranged weaponry. He didn’t intend for them to have the opportunity to reach those after their owners were dead, either. He had personal wardings against missile fire, as did any competent battle mage, but far too many bolts and arrows—and throwing daggers like the one Celewyn had thrown—had their own enchantments to pierce those wards. In such a race between magical defenses and offensive magic intended to pierce them, Ammon preferred not to compete at all if he could avoid it.

  All five of the prince’s companions had to die, for a number of reasons, but without magic; they’d all lie dead on the sands in a few moments’ time. He was sure he’d have to modify his plan once they began to respond, but he smiled. It was a simple plan, and after the lightning slew the prince there’d be no one to rally the rest against him anyhow. He pulled back away from the edge and stood, gripping the staff firmly, and incanted the flight spell.

  Down below, Lord Grey began thrumming softly. It awoke Lian immediately, though he didn’t move. Gem mindspoke him, Lord Grey says a spellsinger is near. Glancing cautiously at Snog, he noted that the goblin had woken at the low thrum of Lord Grey’s power, though Naryn and Mikos hadn’t, and Virinos and Jinian, on watch, seemed oblivious.

  Before he had a chance to decide whether to alert the others, Gem began singing a counterspell and Lian grabbed her hilt, drawing her as he rolled to his feet, circling the campfire as he looked around for the attacker. His hair stood on end from the electrical energy bleeding blue-white fire all around him, as Gem’s defensive magic grounded and dispersed the lightning that had come from just above the camp.

  What in the hells? Ammon thought as he watched the powerful countermagic rendering his attack harmless and the prince springing to his feet with catlike grace and speed that put him in mind of Celewyn. It was as if the prince’s sword, said to have been made to defend against magic, was still functional despite the king and queen’s assurances that it had been destroyed the night of the coup. That seemed unlikely—Jisa was not one to make empty statements—so he decided Lian must simply have had some kind of anti-lightning warding on his person. There were a number of natural magics that could the job.

  Grimacing, he decided in an instant that he’d have to use the dart on Lian instead of the goblin. He’d have more trouble now, but the dart was one of the weapons designed to penetrate wards, and the sword, if it was somehow Gem, wouldn’t be able to stop that. Worse, though he couldn’t see the caster, a male spellsinger was incanting a necromantic spell of some kind, and he had no intention of fighting a sorcerer of any stripe while Lian’s blade deflected his own spells. He dropped suddenly to the sand by releasing one hand from the staff, unwittingly timing his descent perfectly.

  An oily black bolt of necromantic energy, originating from quite near where Lian had been sleeping, missed him without striking or weakening his standing defenses.

  Prepared ahead of time, the staff was multipurpose, and Ammon used it now to focus a fast spellsong to hurl the men and goblin, now behind him, back. As he suspected, the defensive magic Lian had at his disposal (whether truly from Gem or otherwise) had a certain radius limit, or was at least partially directional, and the three men on that side of the camp and the scout were flung back thirty feet; Lian’s defenses had no effect. In circumstances where he didn’t have to work quickly, he’d used that same spell to hurl men so far they were badly injured or killed by the impact upon landing, but he hadn’t had that kind of time, which limited the amount of power he could focus through the spell. Still, their ability to reach him was now hampered, and the goblin had dropped his crossbow in his tumble across the sand.

  The male spellsinger behind the Eastern assassin was already beginning another spell, but it was coming from further behind him as well. One thing’s going my way, Ammon thought, realizing the telekinetic spell had pushed the unseen wizard back as well, though it didn’t seem to have affected his voice.

  The other sailor, standing behind and to the side of Lian, stared at Ammon with eyes bugged out, clearly terrified. But instead of turning to run, he drew a steel blade and let loose a bloodcurdling scream as he rushed at Ammon wildly. Lian was only a few steps behind the crazed attacker, and Ammon waited for the wild man to get close to him before simultaneously singing a fire bolt into his chest and loosing the dart at Lian’s. By waiting until the first attacker was almost on top of him, he again circumvented the prince’s defense against magic. The impact from spellsong and dart knocked both men backward, onto their backs, one wreathed in flame and already dying from the horrible burning lance.

  Lian felt the powerful impact on his chest and a skincrawling sensation of magic as Lord Grey’s physical warding tried to dull the weapon’s force. While the lashthirin scales held against the thick dart the assassin had launched, the force of it striking the center of his chest knocked the wind out of him and immediately rendered his arms and legs insensate. The blade slipped from his numb hand, and the assassin smiled in triumph as he deflected the incoming necromantic spell from the invisible spellcaster apparently lying on the beach next to Lian’s swordbelt. It had been a death spell, but the Easterner handled it calmly, unweaving the black curse as it tried to still his heart.

  The three other men had gotten to their feet, but none of them looked particularly willing to advance on a sorcerer, and they hesitated. Ammon had no doubt that dealing with the invisible caster or the goblin would be sufficient to set them running, not that it would do them any good in the end. None of them were going to live more than a few more minutes, anyhow.

  A sudden spell-like thrumming chord from behind him forced his attention away from the goblin Snog, who was advancing cautiously with what looked like a human-sized dagger in his hand. The black sword the prince had been wielding was now glowing green from the pommel (despite that appearing to be a red gem) and was hovering over the supine body of the prince. It had to be Gem.

  With a mental curse, Ammon ignored the sword and the goblin to hurl a lightning bolt at the male spellcaster. It set the swordbelt afire and he caught a glimpse of something roughly the size of a man’s head tumble away from it, but he didn’t see anything resembling a body in the strike zone. Must have moved, Ammon thought with a frown.

  The goblin broke into a run when he cast, aiming not for the Easterner but for the fallen crossbow. Behind him the other men were gathered together, and if the assassin wasn’t mistaken, were working up the courage to actually advance on him as well, though the second lightning bolt had had the side effect of countering that initiative. Ammon’s lightning spell did nothing, however, to stop the chanting from the male wizard, and he was forced to deflect the incoming spell—originating from where the round object had stopped rolling—in defense. At that same moment, the sword sang her own spellsong, unleashing offensive magics, and while his standing defensive spells stopped the greenish flames from reaching him, they weakened.

  Time to withdraw, the assassin thought, knowing Lian wouldn’t survive the dart
wound, and he could reengage from a distance if he had to. He might not have to bother if they just decided to bury the prince and move on. He only needed the head. He focused on the strange hexagonal pillars on the lava field, for he’d gotten a very good, detailed look at them, and he didn’t want to teleport all the way back to Kavris and have to spend days flying back to Lian’s corpse. Gods knew what could happen to it in that time, and the elven assassin might even reach it first.

  But as he tried to utter the apportation spell, there was a flare of new magic from the sword, somehow singing three different melodies at the same time in perfect harmony; streamers of blood red and deep blue streaked out from her and flashed all around him. Anti-teleport wards, he thought grimly, recognizing the type. No matter. He immediately abandoned the attempt to teleport, instead directing the magical energy he’d summoned into the flight spell, singing that instead. Gripping the staff, he rose fifteen feet in the air, but the sword and male caster weren’t done with him.

  The man summoned a horde of black hornets that flew at the Easterner, forcing him to divide his attention between the flight spell and a quickly sung flaming defensive shield that burned the little monstrosities to a crisp before they could reach him. A sudden cracking sound flashed his attention back the other way, and he fell back to the sands next to the fire, holding the two ends of his now sundered staff. The sword had flown away from Lian’s corpse and actually sliced through the hard ash with the strength of her swing and the sharpness of her blade, and now she dropped back toward him with a vengeance.