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

by William Stacey

  “But—” Owen began.

  “Do as you’re told!” Modwyn glared at Owen.

  Hating himself for his own weakness, Owen nodded and looked away. Nothing was happening on his side of the hill. If Modwyn and Idwal wanted to take foolish chances, that wasn’t his concern. Besides, Keep-Captain Awde was no doubt busy right then and didn’t need Owen’s interference.

  “Go fast,” Owen said.

  As Modwyn and Idwal trotted down the hillside, the contents of the hunter’s bag clinked.

  “Are you daft? Why did you let them go?” Fin asked.

  Owen sighed, raised his palms as if to ask what else he could have done. Fin shook his head, notched an arrow, and lit it on his torch. Dilan and Owen did the same. The three men stood watching as the doctor and hunter moved past the far line of torches and disappeared into the darkness.

  “What are they doing out there?” Dilan asked.

  Owen shook his head. “I don’t know, but they know these insects the best. Besides, his lordship sent them. He must have cause.”

  “His lordship is a thirteen-year-old boy,” said Dilan. “We should have checked with the keep-captain or even Sayer.”

  More fire arrows lit up the night, followed by more cries from ticks. “They’re busy,” said Owen, hating being put in a position where he had to choose between obeying his orders and obeying the physician.

  “I can’t see them anymore,” said Dilan.

  “Me neither,” said Fin.

  “I’m moving down a bit,” said Owen. “Watch me.”

  “Be careful,” said Dilan.

  Owen snorted derisively as he stepped down the hill, his lit arrow nocked and ready to release. As he approached the lit torch he had set out earlier, he saw the dark shapes of Modwyn and Idwal farther away. Both men were up to their knees in the water at the base of the hillock, next to a huge fallen tree that lay half-submerged. The hunter had wrapped something around the tree’s trunk and was moving back, making way for Modwyn. The doctor pulled an object from his clothing, but Owen couldn’t see what it was from where he stood.

  “Hsst,” he hissed at them. “What are you doing?”

  Idwal spun, his hand going for the hand axe in his belt, and Owen felt a momentary spike of concern. Modwyn turned, scowling at Owen, but reached out and gripped Idwal’s forearm, stopping him.

  “Don’t come any closer!” Modwyn hissed. “You’ll attract the ticks.” He put his back to Owen.

  Meanwhile, Idwal kept staring at Owen in open hostility.

  What in Father Craftsman’s name were these two—

  A foul stench washed over Owen, so bad it almost made him gag. He took an involuntary step back and almost dropped his lit arrow. A marsh tick cried out, that time very close. Modwyn and Idwal ran past him, back up the hill, as if Old Grim himself were chasing them. Owen stared at their retreating backs and then at the waterlogged tree. What are these two up to? He moved closer to the tree. As he did, the stench grew worse. The fire from his arrow glinted off metal wrapped around the tree. Is that a chain?

  He froze when a marsh tick leapt up on top of the tree from the other side. Its numerous eyes shone red in the light, and its translucent wings beat in a frenzied blur. Owen stumbled back, almost falling. After recovering his balance, Owen drew his arrow back and let it fly directly at the tick. The shot was bad, and the arrow sizzled into the wet bark beside the insect. The fat insect bunched up as it prepared to leap at Owen just as a second fire arrow flashed past Owen’s ear and thudded into the tick—striking deep in the killing spot just behind its head. The insect shrieked and fell into the water.

  “Move, idiot!” yelled Fin from behind him.

  Owen scrambled back up the hill to where Fin and Dilan waited for him. Owen reached them just as they heard something new—an impossibly loud staccato cry shattered the night, followed by the buzzing of monstrous wings. Dilan hurled a lit torch down the hill. The torch spun through the air, trailing sparks, and then landed on rocks near the tree trunk. It burned weakly but still cast enough light to make out the horror before them. A massive winged form the size of a warhorse dropped out of the fog and landed in the water just before the fallen tree—a female marsh tick!

  Her massive triangular head darted from side to side as if she were searching for something. Tufts of spiky hair jutted from her segmented carapaces. Her huge wings buzzed, disappearing into a blur so powerful, it cleared away the fog near her.

  “Father Craftsman, help us!” said Fin, lowering his bow.

  The three men stood frozen in horror, staring wide-eyed at the obscene giant insect. Then, a loud metallic snap rang out, and she cried out again, that time clearly in distress. Something was wrong. Her wings blurred again, and she rose into the air, but the waterlogged tree rose with her. She dropped back onto the ground.

  What?

  “Kill her quickly, you fools,” Idwal cried out from behind them. “She’ll bring others.”

  Someone loosed a flaming arrow at her, but it glanced off her carapace, winging off into the night. Then more arrows struck her. Owen, Dilan, and Fin sprinted back to their positions in the line. As fast as he could, Owen lit and loosed fire arrows at her. Several of the shafts had struck true, burning into her, and her cries rose in intensity, creating an unearthly uproar that must have reached every corner of the swamp. Then, a chorus of other cries rose up from all around them as the swamp came alive with the reverberating cries of an army of male marsh ticks.

  “Kill her, kill her!” screamed Idwal.

  First one, then several more, and then a score of marsh ticks appeared at the base of the hillock. They rushed up its slope, past the female, charging at the line of soldiers. In seconds, a storm of fire arrows flashed toward the insects. Most of Owen’s arrows missed, but several struck true, pinning giant bugs to the side of the hill. The stench of burning tick washed over them. Within moments, the entire base of the hill was burning with scores of small shafts and dead and dying ticks, but more of the creatures kept coming.

  An eruption of heat and flames lit up the night. Someone had thrown a firepot, which was instantly set aflame by the burning arrows. Ticks screamed in agony, forced back by the inferno, but through the flames, Owen saw scores more of the insects, massing and waiting for the flames to die down. His fingers were numb from loosing so many arrows. Then, another firepot exploded, then two more. The entire base of the hillock was burning—but still swarming with marsh ticks. The female raged down below, her cries bringing still more.

  To his left, a man screamed in pain, and Owen realized with horror at least one insect had reached their line. More ticks bounded up the hill, and Owen threw one of his own firepots then the other. Burning insects darted about in all directions. He grabbed his last arrow, lit it, and sent it into a tick that had been almost on him, pinning the creature to the ground. Two more took its place. He grasped his spear and, lunging forward, impaled one of the ticks in the killing spot behind its head, but the second one was on him, rushing forward. Then, someone else rushed past him and stopped it with a spear thrust—it was Hrawlgir—but he was supposed to be on the other side of the hillock! Other guardsmen also moved down from the summit, reinforcing the line. He had been wrong earlier. The battle would be fought on his side of the hill that night.

  The stench of burning insect was horrific, almost more than he could stand, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. More firepots erupted along the line, forcing the insects back again, but it couldn’t stop them for long. The female still shrieked, still forced the males against them.

  Then, Keep-Captain Awde and Lord Palin moved among them, Awde screaming at them, trying to force order out of the chaos. Lord Palin’s face reflected his terror, but the young man stood his ground with spear and shield next to the keep-captain.

  To Owen’s right, two ticks launched themselves onto a guardsman. The man screamed and thrashed but went down. Owen was about to throw himself back into the fray when someone grabbed his arm. It was
Dilan, his eyes wild, blood running down the side of his nose and dripping off his chin.

  “Come with me. I need your help,” he said.

  Owen looked back at the others. “We can’t leave our—”

  “Now, or we’re all dead!”

  He knew his place was there, even if they were about to be overrun, but something in Dilan’s face made him nod. Dilan turned and ran back up the hill, to the summit, with Owen following. We’ve just deserted our posts during a fight. Men hang for that. At the summit, the bonfires still blazed. The men who had been left with the horses were busy trying to calm the half-mad animals, leaving the wagons abandoned. Dilan headed straight for the wagon holding the oil and torches.

  “What are you doing?” Owen yelled after him. “There’s no time to bring more oil.”

  Dilan moved to the rear of the wagon, putting his shoulder against it. “If we don’t kill that bitch now, we’re all going to die.”

  Owen could see her from there, still straining to get free, with fires burning all about her. He put his shoulder to the wagon beside Dilan. Together, they pushed it toward the edge of the hill. Owen looked around the back of the wagon, down the hillock. The distance was too far. Their chances of actually hitting her were impossible. The wagon would hit a rock and veer off course. Dilan took a burning brand from the bonfire and set the canvas covering on fire. Then, he tossed the log into the bed of the wagon.

  “Push,” he yelled.

  “This isn’t going to—”

  “Push now!”

  Together, they shoved against the wagon. It tipped over the side of the hill, started rolling, and then picked up speed.

  “Look out below!” Dilan yelled.

  Men, looking back wide-eyed, leapt out of the way as the burning wagon swept past them. It bumped, rolled, and flew down the hillside. Once again, the female marsh tick tried to fly away but failed. Then, as Owen had feared, the wagon veered away from her. It was going to sweep right past her. His heart sank. They were all going to die in that swamp. However, the wagon must have hit another rock because it suddenly veered back again, and impossibly, it smashed right into her. A giant fireball lit up the night. Burning pieces of insect and wagon flew through the air, falling to sizzle into the waters of the swamp.

  The insects finally went silent.

  Men cheered and attacked the remaining ticks. The insects broke and ran, perhaps understanding they no longer needed to protect the female.

  Dilan grinned at Owen like a kid who had just done something bad and gotten away with it.

  Not able to help himself, he grabbed the other man and hugged him hard, tears of laughter running down his cheeks.

  We might just live through this night after all.

  Chapter 17

  Modwyn

  Dawn was still hours away when Modwyn and Idwal sneaked back down the hillock to the smoldering carcass of the female marsh tick. The fire had been intense, and even the waterlogged tree trunk was now cinders. The horrific stench of burned insect would likely fester in Modwyn’s clothes for days. At least the damned mosquitoes were finally gone, driven away by the smoke.

  He had done what he could for the wounded soldiers. Five had died in the battle, torn apart by the insects. Several more would die before sunrise. While he had been tending to the wounded—like a dutiful physician—Idwal had retrieved his bear trap, throwing it away into the muddy waters, but only Modwyn could retrieve what they needed from the female.

  Idwal stopped in front of the carcass of the female tick, staring at her. He had tied a kerchief over his face, perhaps thinking that might help with the smell. Idwal, it seemed, was as simple as any other peasant was. “Look at her,” Idwal said quietly, almost reverently.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” answered Modwyn.

  The fire had burned away half her body. The remainder had been crushed by the impact of the wagon. Her legs were gone, which was a pity—the pincers alone would have been priceless—but that didn’t matter. They only had time to search for the venom sac near the end of her stinger. He cast a worried glance up the hillock, but the soldiers were all too busy in the aftermath of the battle.

  Those who believed male marsh ticks to be dangerous truly had no idea. Unlike the males, the females had stingers in their tails with which they could stab, like a wasp, or spray from a distance. Modwyn quickly found the poison sac—the size of his hands—and cut it free before securing it in a waterproof container. The poison, he knew, would cause near immediate torpor in an animal the size of a horse.

  What chance would a man have?

  Chapter 18

  Owen

  Owen cinched Gale’s saddle straps tight and glanced over at the other scouts—Fin, Dilan, and Hrawlgir—as they readied their own mounts. The sun had risen, and the marsh ticks had remained at a distance, allowing the Wolfrey soldiers to tend to their wounded and bury their dead. Owen paused, staring at his friends.

  Dilan shook his head.

  “I should say something,” Owen said.

  “We’ve been over this,” said Dilan. “There’s nothing there. No one will believe you.”

  “I’m sure I saw a chain on that tree,” Owen said.

  Fin walked his mount over. “There’s no chain,” the tall, thin man said. “He’s the family physician, for Father’s sake.”

  Hrawlgir’s face registered his confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  Dilan glanced at Hrawlgir. “Nothing. Let it go, Owen. You can’t prove anything, and emotions are high enough as it is right now.”

  Owen ground his teeth. “I don’t trust—”

  “You men!” called out Keep-Captain Awde as he approached. “I want to talk to you before you go.”

  Sayer followed along behind him, hurrying to keep up.

  The four scouts, holding their mounts’ bridles, turned to face the keep-captain, who stopped before them, his thumbs resting behind his sword belt. Dried blood was still crusted next to Awde’s ear. According to the other men, he had killed a score of the insects himself the night before.

  The keep-captain’s gaze drifted over each of them, resting on Dilan. “You two left your posts last night,” he finally said.

  Behind him, Sayer smiled, his eyes shining.

  “We had no choice,” said Dilan. “The line wasn’t holding.”

  “Not your call,” snapped Sayer.

  Keep-Captain Awde raised his hand toward Sayer. “He’s right. It wasn’t your call. It was mine, and I should have made it.”

  “Captain—” said Owen.

  “It’s all right, Toscovar,” said Awde. “I’m not angry. I’m grateful. You did the right thing.”

  Sayer looked as though he had just swallowed something sour. His gaze snapped to Awde’s. “But, Captain—”

  “I’m a big enough man to admit my mistakes. I should have seen the line wasn’t holding. Well done, Reese. Well done, Toscovar. You saved all of our lives, I think. I’ve spoken to his lordship, and he agrees with me. When this is over and we’re home again, I think he’ll present the two of you with arm-rings—his first as Duke. Be proud of yourselves this day.”

  Dilan inclined his head. Fin and Hrawlgir patted both men on their backs. Sayer stared at the ground.

  “Be careful out there,” Keep-Captain Awde said. “We’ve still got a long way to go, but from everything the hunters say, the greatest danger has now passed. It should be an easy trek to the witch’s fortress. Idwal says the Vale is grassy hill lands. Just remember, we’re far from home and have no friends here.”

  All four men nodded, softly muttering assurances they would be careful.

  As Keep-Captain Awde turned to leave, Owen spoke up. “Captain?”

  The warrior paused and waited.

  “In… in place of the arm-ring, do you think you could broach the subject of releasing me from my—”

  Keep-Captain Awde put his hand on Owen’s shoulder. “We won’t insult his lordship by turning down his gift, but I’ll
try, lad. I’ll try.”

  He turned and left them, and Sayer hurried to catch up, only pausing to scowl at Dilan. Their spirits high, the four men mounted their horses and led them down the hill. Father Craftsman willing, they were going to be free of that damned swamp soon.

  #

  Just past midday, Owen and the others rode free of the old forest and out onto the Haunted Vale’s grassy, wind-swept hills. The wild had long before reclaimed the old road to the witch’s fortress, leaving only small mounds of fallen stone, the final remains of where small walls had once stood. They followed the trail of the stones to a small river blocking further passage northeast. A wooden bridge had spanned the river, but it had collapsed long before, leaving only the supports on either bank. They split into two pairs, with Owen and Hrawlgir riding north, seeking a fording spot for the wagons, while Dilan and Fin rode to the south.

  Owen halted Gale and stood in his stirrups to see farther. Before them rose leagues and leagues of grassy hills, like an ocean. Once, that must have been farmland, the ground tended by the servants of the Greywynne family. Now it was wild, overgrown, abandoned. That was a lot of good land to abandon.

  Owen pointed at a large hilltop standing higher than the surrounding terrain. “That’s the high ground,” he told Hrawlgir. “We should be able to see for leagues from up there.”

  The other man nodded and steered his horse toward the hill. As they rode, the tall grass brushed beneath their mounts’ bellies. They would need to check the horses for ticks later, Owen knew, otherwise the animals might become sick. In fact, they should check each other for ticks as well. He shuddered when he pictured the marsh ticks once again.

  They rode up the hill, traversing it on an angle so it wasn’t as steep. At the top, the grass was shorter and windswept. Shading his eyes from the sun, Owen gazed out over the Vale. The river twisted on their right, disappearing into the distance. It wasn’t wide—barely a river at all—but with its soft, muddy banks, the wagons would become stuck.