The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset)

by William Stacey

  “Ooh.” Kora pushed off the door and moved to sit beside Fioni. She gripped Fioni’s bicep and squeezed it, staring at the young man. “He’s a pretty pony. How’d you like to ride him hard and put him away wet?”

  Vory groaned, but Fioni smiled, shook her head. “I think not. A man that big… probably as dumb as a seagull.”

  Vory coughed.

  “You like to screw ’em smart, do you, skipper? Are they better that way?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, Kora.” Fioni watched the young man’s back as he rode away. “They are better smart. He is a pretty one, though, I’ll grant you that.”

  Vory cleared his throat. “Must be a hundred warriors.”

  “Seventy-five,” Fioni said. “With six wagons.”

  “We could take ’em,” Vory said.

  “Maybe,” said Fioni as she climbed to her feet, adjusting the eel-skin scabbard of her sword so that it hung just right over her ring-mail coat. “But those are northern warriors, not southern dandies. They’re bred tough up north. We’d lose too many of the crew, and we’re going to need every sword and axe we have once we find the Gilt-Mane.”

  “He’s not here, skipper,” said Vory. “We’d have found him by now. And no one’s seen Thunder Killer in weeks.”

  “Slimy piece of whale shit has probably sailed to the Kur’teshi Empire,” said Kora. “He’ll sell his swords to anyone without enough sense to toss him as the chum he is. We’ll never see Galas Gilt-Mane again.”

  “We’ll see my cousin again,” said Fioni, a surprising amount of heat in her voice.

  Kora grinned, exposing a missing front tooth, then hugged Fioni fiercely, kissing her cheek. “You’re right, and when we do, you’ll avenge Talin.”

  Fioni nodded, turning to her first mate. “Those are Wolfrey men, sworn to the Dains. Ask around, Vory. Find out where they’re going.”

  “Greywynne Island belongs to them,” said Kora. “That makes the most sense.”

  “Greywynne Island will never belong to them,” said Fioni. “The witch’s people still hate them, but you’re right, that’s probably where they’re going.”

  “You still want me to find out?” asked Vory.

  “Yes. Make sure. I’d hate to run into them at sea. It’d be embarrassing, what with all those men-at-arms.”

  “And we might have to kill the pretty one,” Kora said as she drifted past Fioni.

  Fioni nodded, her eyebrows rising. “Yes, Vory. I don’t want to kill the pretty one. Do try to be discreet, yes?”

  Vory snorted, shaking his large head. “Bloody master spy I am. Ain’t nobody more sneaky in this whoring, piddling anthill.” He turned and stomped down the stairs, forcing a pair of sailors just coming up to jump aside before he barreled through them.

  Fioni smiled, feeling as salty that evening as the sea she loved.

  Part Two:

  The Great Crypt

  Chapter 11

  Owen

  The voyage to Greywynne Island had taken three turbulent days on an old cargo hulk that soon reeked of vomit and horse manure. Unlike most of the Wolfrey men-at-arms, who immediately succumbed to seasickness, Owen vibrated with excitement the entire voyage, barely able to sleep. As they sailed into Port Eaton’s wide, natural bay, he had even climbed the rigging in order to see better. The Wolfrey fort, named Stron’s Watch in honor of the great warlord, sat on a rocky cliff overlooking the harbor and the small town of Port Eaton.

  Two days after arriving on the island, Owen found himself sitting in a half circle with the other soldiers in the hard-packed dirt of the fort’s courtyard. An uncovered wagon sat before them, a large box sitting atop its bed, with an old blanket covering that.

  Stron’s Watch was little more than a tower surrounded by a wall, with some wooden buildings, stables, and storage sheds, as well as the numerous tents of the Wolfrey soldiers set up in the dirt courtyard. Atop the tall tower fluttered a single pennant with the golden lion of Wolfrey. The fort sat at the far edge of the cliff. In the sea below, the waves smashed against the rocks, throwing cold mist into the air.

  Two hard-looking locals—the first of the infamous Greywynne Islanders that Owen had ever seen—stood beside the wagon. The two men, wearing leather and furs, looked like foresters. One, somewhere in his early thirties, was older than the other. Keep-Captain Awde had greeted the man upon arrival, addressing him as Master Idwal. Idwal was of average height but thick in the arms and shoulders. His hair, reddish brown and receding, was long at the back and pulled into a single plait, with pieces of colored string woven into it. The sun had weathered his ruddy face, lining it with deep cracks. His mustache was neatly trimmed, but his red beard was long and braided with wooden beads. On his belt, he wore a short axe and a long skinning knife, as did the other islander, a lad of perhaps seventeen years with the same red hair but also an empty gleam in the eyes that hinted at slowness. Otherwise, the two men looked alike enough to be brothers.

  Keep-Captain Awde and Sayer stood beside, but slightly apart from, the two islanders. The new physician, Modwyn Du’Aig, and the Dain family’s reeve on the island—a constantly scowling heavyset man by the name of Wendel Dert—stood farther back, talking to one another.

  “What’s with the islanders?” Fin asked, plopping himself cross-legged between Owen and Dilan.

  Owen shook his head, pursing his lips.

  “Don’t like the way they look,” said Fin.

  “Just men,” Owen said. “No webbed fingers, no gills.”

  “What do you suppose is under that blanket?” Fin asked.

  “I think we’re about to find out,” said Dilan.

  Idwal and the other islander climbed up onto the bed of the wagon. With the blanket still covering it, they carefully lifted the object down. The object clearly had some weight to it, and both men moved very slowly and carefully. As they set the object down on the dirt, an alien screech echoed across the courtyard. Nearby, in the stable, the horses whinnied in fear.

  Now Owen understood—a live marsh tick was beneath that tarp.

  The soldiers glanced at one another, muttered beneath their breath, and scuttled farther back. Owen knew of no one who had ever seen a live marsh tick, but every child in the north had grown up hearing stories about those monsters from the veterans of Stron’s army. Giant, horrific insects that could rip a man’s arm free with its pincers, they were said to be nearly invulnerable and frightened only by fire. Idwal stood watching the Wolfrey soldiers, his thumbs stuck into his belt and a smile on his face.

  “Quiet down, all of you,” Keep-Captain Awde commanded. “His lordship is coming.”

  The keep-captain turned and faced the stone steps leading up to the tower’s entrance, where Lord Palin and his sister had just appeared, approaching the gathered men. The men jumped to their feet, Owen included, lowering their heads in respect.

  The young lord was dressed in a fine blue tunic and gray leggings, with a black fox-fur-lined cloak over his thin shoulders, but as impressive as the boy looked, most of the men were watching his sister. Lady Danika glided along beside her brother, holding his arm. She wore a simple green dress with a short red cape, her locks tied up atop her head. Such a beautiful woman was out of place among all those soldiers. The Dain siblings approached the keep-captain. Where young Lord Palin’s face clearly reflected his nervousness, Lady Danika’s was the picture of serenity.

  “My lord, my lady,” said Keep-Captain Awde.

  “Good day, Captain,” answered Lord Palin. “Is everything…?”

  Keep-Captain Awde nodded. “We were just waiting for you, my lord. With your permission?”

  The men created a space near the front, allowing servants to place two high-backed wooden chairs before the covered box.

  “Not too close,” said the keep-captain, and the servants moved the chairs farther back.

  Once seated, Lady Danika placed her hands on her lap while her younger brother fidgeted with his sword, thrusting it out of the way before meeting t
he keep-captain’s eyes and nodding.

  Keep-Captain Awde glanced to Idwal. “If you would, Master Idwal.”

  The islander stepped forward, bent over, and grasped the trailing edge of the blanket. In one quick moment, he yanked it free, revealing a metal cage half the height of a man. Inside the cage, as expected, was a marsh tick. At the sight of the insect—the size of a small dog—a wave of revulsion swept through the men. The only place in the world where those creatures lived was that island, deep within Feldwyn Swamp. Its body, bloated and shiny, reminded Owen of a pregnant spider, fat with eggs. Bristles covered its small, pointy head, and it had numerous tiny red eyes and gnashing mandibles. Two stubby translucent wings sat atop its torso, and it had six segmented legs, but only the rear two legs looked large and powerful enough for locomotion, with the others appearing too small to help it move. Still, despite those legs, the veterans had all spoken of how fast the creatures were. A glistening green carapace, highly regarded for its armor-like properties, covered its torso. The marsh tick lifted its head and once again emitted that horrible stuttering cry. As it did, its wings beat so rapidly they seemed to blur into nothing.

  “There’s little to fear while it’s in the cage,” said the physician, Modwyn, as he stepped up next to Idwal. “It can’t get out, and it’s actually quite docile during the day.”

  “Aye.” Idwal nodded at the doctor. “Usually, they sleep during the day.” He paused, smiling. “But this one’s a bit cranky at being caged. It’s also a bit larger than they usually come.”

  Owen stared at the angry creature. This is docile?

  The marsh tick settled, becoming less agitated. Idwal watched it for some moments and then actually moved one hand through the bars, letting his fingers trail along its green carapace. It didn’t react, didn’t move, except for a brief moment when its wings buzzed quickly then stopped.

  “Craftsman’s blessing,” whispered Fin. “He’s got balls like a bear.”

  Idwal pulled his hand free and smiled at them, exposing yellow teeth. “Safe enough now, with the sun overhead, but you should see them at night.”

  “And we will,” said Keep-Captain Awde, stepping closer. “To get to the fortress, we’ll need to follow the old road, and it goes straight through the heart of Feldwyn Swamp. Years ago, when the road was still maintained, a man could cross the swamp in a single day. But the islanders consider the interior to be haunted—taboo territory. That’s why they call the land on the other side of the swamp the Haunted Vale. The road’s fallen into disrepair, and there’s no way to get through the swamp before nightfall.”

  As he spoke, Awde glanced at Idwal, who nodded in agreement.

  “Nor,” continued the keep-captain, “can we bring the wagons we’ll need over the hills surrounding the Vale and the grasslands. We are going to have to spend the night in the swamp, and it’s certain we will see these monsters.”

  Once again, Idwal nodded. “‘Tis a sure thing.”

  “So,” said the keep-captain, “Pay close attention to what Doctor Du’Aig and our guest, Master Idwal, have to say. Master Idwal makes his living hunting the ticks. He knows them well, as does the doctor, who studied them at the Royal University in King’s Hold. What’s more, Master Idwal and his brothers have agreed to travel with us, to show us the way through the swamp.”

  “They won’t be popular for that,” Dilan whispered.

  Idwal bowed his head. His brother cackled, as if he had just heard a great jest. Idwal glared at him, and the young man stared at his feet.

  Marsh tick hunters? Owen watched them both with a newfound respect. That has to be a hard profession. Marsh tick carapaces were highly sought after, especially in the east, in the Kur’teshi Empire. If Idwal and his brothers were good at their trade, they likely made a nice living. So why are they helping us, men they hate? Lord Palin must be paying them a great deal.

  “We’ve hunted hundreds of these beauties,” Idwal said. “But only one at a time. Make no mistake, they’re very dangerous, but they have weaknesses—like fire, which I’m sure you’ve heard—terrified of it, they are.”

  “It’s true,” said Modwyn. “Like most animals, they run from fire unless driven by desperation.”

  Fin raised his hand, and Modwyn paused, raising an eyebrow.

  “How do you fight such things?” Fin asked.

  “With courage and determination, and by being forearmed with knowledge.” Modwyn looked over the men, letting his gaze stop on one, Hrawlgir, a tall, lanky young soldier, a friendly enough man standing near the back, leaning on his spear. Modwyn held his hand out to the young man. “Your spear, if you please.”

  Hrawlgir hesitated, his eyes going to Keep-Captain Awde, who nodded. Pushing through the crowd, Hrawlgir handed the spear to Modwyn. Modwyn stood above the cage, holding the spear so its steel head hovered over the now-docile marsh tick. After bracing himself, in one quick motion, Modwyn stabbed the spear down into the crate, striking the insect between its small wings atop its carapace. Instantly, the marsh tick erupted in an angry frenzy, its wings a blur as it thrashed about in the cage. It screamed so loudly the horses whinnied in fear again, and several men had to rush away to calm them. When Modwyn pulled the spear out, they saw it hadn’t done more than scratch the insect’s carapace. The marsh tick, calm once again, settled back in its cage.

  “I’ve dissected one of these creatures at the university,” Modwyn said. “They are most remarkable. Their exoskeleton is harder than steel, or very nearly so. I’ve seen an entire suit of armor made entirely from the chitin. In fact, their carapace is so hard that one would think these things invulnerable.” The physician paused and moved around to the front of the cage, where the creature’s small head was. “Other parts of its anatomy are also very useful as medical ingredients although not nearly as well understood.” He used the spear to point out various parts of its body. “Several of the internal organs can be used to dull pain. Amazing, really.”

  “You said one would think them invulnerable,” Dilan called out. “That means they’re not. So where, then?”

  Modwyn slowly placed the head of the spear through the bars once more and let its tip dangle over the space just behind the insect’s head. “Here,” he said softly, “between the head and the prothorax.”

  “The what?” someone asked.

  “The prothorax,” repeated Modwyn, almost in a whisper. Then, without warning, he rammed the spear into the insect, right behind its head. The spear point impaled the creature, pinning it to the ground. It shrieked once, thrashed about for a second, and then lay still. Yellow blood pooled about the bottom of the cage, soaking into the ground.

  “This spot, just behind the head”—Modwyn kept staring at the dead marsh tick—“is where you’ll find a nerve cluster. Strike that cluster, and the insect dies immediately. But strike with care, because you need to let it get close first.”

  “Not if you put an arrow into it,” said Fin.

  Modwyn raised his eyebrows. “Indeed.” He yanked the spear free, and yellow goo dripped from its point as he handed the weapon back to Hrawlgir.

  The young man stared in revulsion at his weapon.

  “Best clean that,” said Idwal. “Quicker than you’d think, tick blood will rot steel.”

  “A marsh tick is a fearsome creature, make no mistake,” said Modwyn to the soldiers, “but if you know where to strike, as I have just demonstrated, it dies easily enough. We now understand these creatures far better than in your grandfathers’ time, when Stron and his army fought their way through the swamp. Now, we know they burrow into the earth and sleep during the day. We know they avoid fire. If we’re careful, no one needs to worry about the Feldwyn Swamp.”

  Idwal snorted. “I wouldn’t say that. A smart man always needs be watchful in that swamp… if he wants to come out again.”

  “Yes, thank you. They see poorly at night as well,” continued Modwyn. “Might not even notice you unless you’re making a lot of noise.”

  Dil
an leaned closer to Owen. “Like say, seventy-five soldiers with half a dozen wagons, as well as horses, all blundering through the mud?”

  Owen snorted in laughter, but Sayer glared at them, so he put on a more serious face.

  “There’s one more thing you need to remember,” said Modwyn. “Almost all of these creatures are males, and they’re dangerous enough, but ’ware the females. They’re infinitely worse.”

  “Just like all women,” whispered Fin.

  Owen elbowed him in the ribs.

  “I doubt you’ll see a female, but if you do, tell me immediately,” Modwyn said. “Run and get me if you have to.”

  “How will we know?” Owen asked.

  “You’ll know, lad,” said Idwal, smiling cruelly.

  “The females are larger, bigger than a horse.” Modwyn paused. “And they fly.”

  An uneasy muttering swept through the men. Keep-Captain Awde stepped forward, silencing them with a look. “Get a grip on yourselves. No one ever sees a female,” he said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

  “It’s true,” said Idwal. “I’ve only ever seen a corpse, never a live one, but they’re out there. I heard ’em in the night. Nearly shat myself.” His face blanched as he glanced at Lady Danika. “Sorry m’lady,” he mumbled.

  Keep-Captain Awde frowned at Idwal. “Doctor Du’Aig and Master Idwal have offered to remain behind and answer any further questions you may have, but for now, your new liege lord would address you.”

  The men silenced immediately. Idwal and his brother hurriedly lifted the crate with the dead marsh tick out of the way. Keep-Captain Awde lifted the blanket that had been over the crate earlier and tossed it over the bloody ground, making a clean spot for the young man to stand. As young Lord Palin stood before them, Owen noted that Modwyn and Idwal were off together, separate from the others and engaged in their own private discussion. Lord Palin looked unsure of himself, as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. Addressing a large group of men was a hard thing, Owen knew, especially when they were all considerably older than Lord Palin. The teenaged boy stood in place, like a statue. Someone coughed.