Holy gods, what else can that sword do? he wondered. He quickly raised physical defenses, blocking her strike, and in the nick of time, for the goblin’s first crossbow quarrel—tipped with lashthirin—deflected at the same time. It was a losing proposition, and he needed to put distance between himself and the male caster, who seemed satisfied to keep casting from a distance and not close.
Ammon thought the defensive magic he’d put up could handle the crossbow and the sword’s physical attacks for a time, and the sword’s offensive spells so far had been impressive for such a magical implement, but not as powerful as the ones coming from the still-invisible male wizard. That would give him the opportunity to cast another flight spell.
“Lord Grey, he must not get away!” the sword’s enraged voice bellowed as she unleashed a series of attacks against the assassin. Though she was not able to “wield” herself as well as Lian could, it was still pushing the assassin’s defenses hard, for her enchantments had been created by a Master artificer who had literally poured part of herself into the making.
Ammon swallowed hard, for she was speaking, attacking him, and starting to cast a new offensive spell at the same time. Whoever this “Lord Grey” was, he didn’t answer, and whatever spell he cast didn’t have any apparent effect. He did hear some kind of goblinish being spoken from the area the mage was hiding, though he didn’t understand it. The other mage must have cast defensive magic of some kind, Ammon thought as he selected another flight spell from the several he knew and began to sing it. He decided the goblin had to die next; whatever the unseen speaker had said to him in Govlikel was undoubtedly intended to harm the assassin.
The other three humans simply hadn’t the courage to advance on him, and they were sidling around behind where the invisible spellcaster was. The goblin had readied another quarrel, but while the crossbow was leveled at Ammon, he held his fire, and that concerned Ammon, as withholding fire tended to prove that the goblinish words were not in his best interests.
The invisible and unknown mage immediately began another song as soon as he finished the first, and Ammon stopped singing the flight spell in alarm. Waves of disruption spread over and around the Easterner as the first spell, cast into the ground beneath Ammon, interacted with the second one the necromancer had aimed at the air around him. The two spells set up a synergistic heterodyning that interrupted Ammon’s ability to summon magical energy.
Neither spell was necromantic in nature, and the assassin was unprepared for such an indirect attack. For a blackrobe, “indirect” meant using Undead to attack, not to combine Earth and Air in such a way! The sand beneath him stopped supporting him as the shuddering waves disrupted its coherence, and he sank to his ankles in it, but far worse, the interference from the interacting magics severed his physical protection spell.
“Fire!” the male wizard’s voice commanded in the goblin tongue at the same time he continued to sing, Ammon thought in amazed horror. At point-blank range, Snog’s bolt flew, and only blind luck saved the assassin’s life, for in his flailing to try to keep his balance against the strange tremors that surrounded him and his sudden instinctive flinching back from the crossbow bolt, he interposed the larger half of the staff between himself and Snog at just the right moment.
Still, the bow had a tremendous pull, and at this range, the bolt had almost all of that force. The staff was ripped out of his left hand and slammed into his side. Despite the blow and the speed of his attackers’ reaction to the male wizard’s order, Ammon had not forgotten the danger of the flying sword. When she came in right after the goblin’s shot to strike at him as well, he parried her with the other half of the broken staff, expertly deflecting the force of her attacks to prevent her from further cleaving the staff.
Unlike some of Celewyn and Ammon’s Witchbreed competitors in the assassination business, the Easterner was a master of many different weapons. Although he certainly didn’t think of a severed staff as a favorite, it was still quite serviceable to deflect the force of Gem’s single, powerful blow. The disruption zone was not selective to him, and it caused the green glow from the sword’s pommel to flicker, dropping her to the sand right after she tried to slice the assassin open, but he didn’t trust that she’d stay down. Dragging himself out of the sinking sands, he backed away from her and the goblin, now able to keep the enemy mage, the sword, and the scout all in view.
His side ached from the impact of the staff, but his magic was still strong and he could cast a new flight spell now. Trying to catch his breath, he opened his mouth to do so. It was his dying act, as Prince Lian Evanson slipped his heavily enchanted shortsword through the Eastern assassin’s heart from behind, expertly striking through the ribs as the strong spells on the blade amplified the force of his attack against the magically still-defenseless man.
Chapter Twenty Eight
“War is the final tool of statecraft, not its failure. Statecraft, the use of diplomacy and negotiation, is based on the ability of one side to direct force upon the other. Without the threat of war, diplomacy and negotiation are empty things without substance. And when one threatens war, one must often wage it. If one side cannot threaten war, no reason exists to negotiate.”
-- Abiuran II, second emperor of Peloria, c. 14 PE
Gem struggled to rise, but Lord Grey’s disruption effect was too strong. She was desperate to get to Lian before the assassin’s deathcurse was unleashed against the prince she thought of as her son. Lian was thinking in those terms as well, and he sidestepped the Easterner’s body as it fell to the sand and quickly swept Gem up into his hand, interposing her between himself and the mage’s corpse. The assassin had been a Master mage, and his deathcurse would unleash his power reserves. Gods only knew what it would do.
That’s odd, Gem thought, seeing a large amount of magic gather itself from his body and then fade away like water running off of a rooftop. Whatever the wizard’s final magic did, it did not seem to have any effect.
Lian then ran to Virinos, but the man’s body was burning, his ribs shattered and his internal organs blackened and charred. He was dead, and Lian prayed the troubled man was finally at peace. He looked up to Snog, who to his surprise had gone to pick up Lord Grey and was walking back toward Lian with him, brushing sand carefully off of the blackened skull. Lian knew the goblin still feared the necromancer, but obviously he’d come to terms with it, at least to some degree.
One of the goblin’s ears was bleeding, but it didn’t seem to be serious, and he had some minor abrasions from his tumble across the sand. Lian walked past him, leaving the necromancer in the goblin’s care, to check on the remaining sailors. Behind him, the skull and goblin approached the body of the assassin, and Lord Grey began singing a spell to detect enchantments and protections. Lian assumed he’d also sing something to prevent him from rising as Undead, but then it occurred to him that he might be doing exactly the opposite.
“Are you three all right?” Lian asked in a raspy voice, holding his drawn swords down to be as unthreatening as possible. What he wanted to do was to sit down and have Snog give him something for the pain in his chest, but that wouldn’t do right now.
Naryn swallowed as he glanced at the other two. “I…we’re glad you’re not hurt, Captain Alan, sir,” he said, hanging his head. “We wanted to come help you, but…”
Lian shook his head. “Don’t feel any shame about not getting into the fight, Naryn,” he said. “That man was a Master magician, and you’d have been killed. It’s only by the grace of Vedelta I’m not, myself.” Indeed, if the warding-reinforced scale armor had failed, even to a small degree, he was certain the heavy dart was coated with very deadly poison. He was somewhat worried about that, now that he thought about it. If it was a contact poison, not just a blood-borne one, he might be in trouble, for the lashthirin scales, while tightly fitted, weren’t watertight.
I need you to make sure the poison’s all off my armor and clothes, he said mentally to Gem while he reassured the men furthe
r that he was relieved they were unhurt, and not angry or disappointed in them for standing aside. She immediately sang a spell Lord Grey had taught her to render most poisons inert, and the men drew back from her. Lian reassured them it was just a healing spell—not completely untrue—but they still looked uneasy.
Neither Naryn nor Mikos seemed to believe his assurances that he was satisfied with their actions, but Jinian smiled and began picking up the scattered equipment that had been thrown along with them by the assassin’s telekinetic spell. Mikos spoke for all of them, “We should have done something, Your Highness. Even if it was just to throw a rock at him.” He was shaken, but he was also angry at himself for having done nothing.
Gem made a mental twitch that Lian had long interpreted as a wince. She said silently, We need to make sure he doesn’t use that term, meaning the honorific.
Lian said, “That would have done nothing, Mikos. The assassin’s defensive wards were deflecting my sword’s attacks and Snog’s crossbow bolts, and anything you could have done wouldn’t even have distracted him. Our weapons are highly enchanted, and he was stopping them cold until the end.”
Mikos and Naryn looked at each other, as if to say they were out of their league. Lian didn’t blame them; an assassin of the Easterner’s stature was out of his league. As simple sailors on a merchantman, Lian was actually proud of them for not simply running away. Naryn said, “Pardon my saying so, Captain Alan, sir, but why didn’t he fry you when you killed him? I thought Master mages always had some nasty deathcurse ready to burn down the one who dared strike them.”
Lord Grey answered from across the sands. “He did have a final magic prepared,” he said in his beautiful tenor voice. “It just wasn’t a curse or malevolent sending. It was some kind of additional teleportation spell, probably to take him to a safe haven. The sword spirit’s spell was still blocking that sort of magic, so it just faded away uselessly. I, for one, am glad she did so, for he would have recovered, regrouped, and returned with a small army.” Gem’s spell hadn’t been physical in nature, so Lord Grey’s disruption zone had not affected it.
Lian nodded, gathering the men up with an offhand gesture from his shortsword—the less threatening of his two blades. “Find out what you can about him, you two, especially how he managed to find us,” he said, speaking to Snog and the necromancer. “The four of us will start binding up Vir so we can give him to Tysleth.” Most sailors wanted to be buried at sea, or set adrift from the shore if they were so unfortunate as to die ashore, and Mikos and Jinian nodded approvingly.
Naryn said, “He was a good man, but shouldn’t we move the camp in case this man had allies?” He was perfectly willing to leave Virinos’ body to scavengers, the southern versions being large albatross-looking black birds, sort of a cross between a seabird and a buzzard.
Lian shook his head. “If this man had come with allies, they’d have all dropped down on us,” he replied. “A wizard-assassin like him works alone, so he doesn’t have to share the purse.” He didn’t really want to remind them that his head carried a lot of value, but given the spells Lord Grey and Gem had been hurling back and forth with the Easterner, he felt the immediate risk was low.
The cook nodded, frowning but not raising any other objections. Lian let them get started on Vir’s corpse while he sheathed his weapons and threaded the shortsword’s belt through Gem’s scabbard loops. He buckled the second belt on and joined the men. By the time he reached them, they’d already wrapped Vir up in his bedroll (a length of sailcloth) and dragged a large driftwood log to the corpse. Jinian examined it carefully, telling them to roll it over, and then dragged Virinos’ body over to it, and Lian helped them do this.
“Help me lift him,” Jin said, and the other three men hoisted him up to lie on the sand-covered lower side of the log so he could tie their fallen comrade firmly to it. “This side will float up, I’m pretty sure, anyway.” He looked at Lian. “Will you set him on his way, Captain Alan?” he added. “Once we get it in the water?”
Lian nodded solemnly. “It would be my honor,” he said. “I’ll think on what to say.” A captain’s final words for a crewman were important, and this time all three men nodded approvingly. It was not something done lightly.
It was hard work, but they dragged the log into the surf and set it afloat. A spell from Gem, sung after warning the sailors what she intended, set the log out against the tide. Though its rocking immersed the dead sailor’s body into the water, Jinian had judged the log’s buoyancy rightly and it kept him mostly out of the water.
“Sail on, Virinos, shipmate and able sailor,” Lian said as they stood in the shallow water watching the makeshift bier make its way into the deeper water. “You saved the ship by rigging the jib mast, and it was well done. You fought to the end against the enemy, and that was well done. Gods watch and keep you, and may Tysleth welcome you home. And may you know peace and honor in the Sea King’s court.”
“Aye, well said, Captain,” Mikos said, nodding firmly. “Well said.” The three sailors and the prince waded back out of the sea, coming back to the fire and the body of the assassin.
Snog had spread his own bedroll out, and as Lord Grey directed him, was laying out the assassin’s possessions one after the other, careful not to touch any of it with his bare skin. Unlike the sailors, who’d rigged makeshift bedding out of sailcloth, Lian and Snog had their own as part of their field gear.
The assassin had owned a matched pair of curved long daggers, four throwing knives, the wrist launcher and several more heavy darts for it, a collection of jars and vials probably containing a variety of poisons and antidotes, his cloak and robes, an encoded but mundane journal, well-made boots (hiding another knife), and a collection of rings, necklaces, and loose gemstones. All of the jewelry was set with rubies, and all of the loose stones were rubies of various qualities and sizes. He also had two flasks, one fairly small (and warm to the touch) and the other larger, and a variety of small bags of herbs, mineral salts, and dried and dessicated animal parts; material components for some of his spells, no doubt. There were also several scroll cases, hard wax-stoppered to protect against moisture, an enchanted waterskin, and a polished silver mirror, the sort often used for scrying.
He’d worn two things about his neck: his only piece of actual jewelry—a small phial of what looked like blood on a fine penalirin chain—and a small jade frog in a leather pouch. He’d also kept a bowl and a piece of cork in one large pocket of the cloak. The frog’s pouch was carefully sewn mostly closed, and a drawstring could and did close it completely.
Lian couldn’t figure out why but the frog seemed familiar, even though he’d never seen it before. Does that frog look familiar to you? he asked Gem.
No, not really, Gem said. I mean, it’s jade and an animal figurine like Elowyn used, but otherwise I’ve never seen it before.
Lian chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. Like Elowyn used, he thought to himself. He’d had vision-dreams of the Silei master assassin sending him aid, but he doubted this Eastern wizard was it. But it’s possible he was supposed to help me, but decided to cash in on my head instead, Lian considered. That didn’t ring true; if Elowyn had inadvertently set a hunter on his trail, he doubted the prescient vision would have taken that form.
“Lord Grey,” he said, “can you focus first on the frog and the little vial of blood, if that’s what it is? The rest of it’s interesting, but those seemed the most important to him.”
Lord Grey’s voice sounded pleased. “Of course, Captain Alan,” he said. “Please set me down next to them both, if you would, Snog.”
“Aye,” the goblin said, setting the skull down carefully between the two items. He then made one of the signs against evil spirits he knew at the skull, evoking a chuckle from the necromancer and more signs against evil from the watching sailors.
They hadn’t seen Lord Grey’s form before now, and the blackened skull that could talk and cast dark magic was a terrifying thing in and of itself. More de
terrent against attacking me, I suppose, Lian thought as he went to find the rest of his gear. Gem’s scabbard, hastily recovered so he could help with the burial, had not been in the path of the lightning, but the belt itself and the leather sack Lord Grey rode in were lost causes. The shortsword’s belt could serve for both weapons, for that was how he’d worn them before placing Lord Grey on his hip. The necromancer would have to go back into Lian’s pack, but he doubted the ancient sorcerer would mind, so long as Lian didn’t lose it again as had happened in Whitefall.
Lian unbuckled the sword belt again and sat down next to the naked body of the dead assassin, the sightless eyes looking skyward. He placed the two swords on his other side, Gem on top so he could draw her if he needed to. I don’t recognize him, he thought, studying the older man’s handsome features for a moment before reaching out with a gloved hand to shut his eyes.
Deathlord, send him to his rest, and Damar ward against his rising, he prayed as he held his hand over the assassin’s eyes. In a short time, Lord Grey might argue to bring him back as an Undead in order to question him, but Lian had always been taught to work against the Dark Corruptor, who was the primal force behind nearly all of the Undead that so often plagued Tieran.
The Easterner had a number of scars, including one old one just under the ribcage. He couldn’t be sure what damage that had caused without opening the corpse up, which he had no intention of doing, but it was the puckered and jagged Y-shape of a knife twisted in the wound. Given its location, it must have been a near-deadly wound. His other scars appeared to be much less serious.
He rolled the body over, looking for identifying tattoos or marks, and found several more scars, but none as bad as the one on the front. He pushed his gloves gently through the man’s graying hair, finding nothing hidden away in the fine hair the man had boasted. Elowyn had told him once that it was possible to weave wire in one’s hair that might be useful as a garrote.
By Blood Hunted: Kingsblood Chronicles Part Two (The Kingsblood Chronicles Book 2) Page 40
