“We need a torch,” said Owen.
Lady Danika nodded, dropped her shield, pulled out a torch and flint, and struck spark to stone. “One of the archers dropped it. I thought it might come in useful.”
“Bless you, my lady,” said Dilan.
The spark caught and ignited the oil-soaked rag. She held the torch high, illuminating the scene of horror before them. Owen swallowed hard, his stomach rising into his throat. Most of the dead men had been Wolfrey men, the surviving ghouls from the previous night. One of them was Fin, his thin body discolored, purplish and green.
A wave of revulsion and anger washed through Owen. Damn Serina Greywynne and her foul necromancy!
Dilan stepped forward and, with one swing from Sight-Bringer, severed Fin’s head from his corpse. He stared down at the headless body. “Good-bye, Fin.” Then, he looked about the common room. “Where is she?”
Owen sighed, glaring at the corpse pile. “She’s beneath—”
A blur of movement was the only warning they had before a form leaped from the stairs, landing atop Lowry and smashing him to the rush-covered floor. Owen heard the man’s neck snap.
Modwyn, still kneeling atop Lowry’s body, let go of his head and grinned wolfishly at Owen. “Still alive, Horse-boy?”
Rage gripped Owen, and he rushed forward to kill the bastard, but before he could take two steps, Modwyn was back on his feet. Impossibly fast, he darted out of the way, leaving Owen to swing his sword at empty air. Then, rushing forward in a blur, Modwyn grabbed Owen in a vice-like grip, lifting him above his head and throwing him through the air. Owen’s helmet hit the wall with a resounding crack and fell free.
Shaking his head, Owen climbed clumsily to his feet just in time to see Modwyn advancing on Lady Danika, grinning like a fiend, but rather than back up, she shoved the lit torch into his face. He screamed in pain, holding his face and stumbling backward as Dilan advanced on him with Sight-Bringer.
Owen rushed to Dilan’s side, arriving at the same time as Dert. Together, the three men advanced on Modwyn, standing between him and Lady Danika. Owen had dropped his sword when he hit the wall, but he held up his fighting dagger. Modwyn’s feral eyes went from Sight-Bringer’s gleaming blade to the faces of the three men. He moved farther back, toward the rear of the common room. They had him trapped, but then Modwyn grinned and, in one impossible leap, jumped straight up into the rafters above—a distance of at least fifteen feet. As the men stared up at him, their mouths open, Modwyn disappeared through the roof, pushing his way through the thatch. Sunlight poured in through the opening he had made, and straw fell to the floor.
“He’s gone,” said Dert, breathless.
“We’ll deal with Modwyn later,” said Dilan. “We need to find Serina.”
“Hurry,” said Lady Danika, rushing to the corpse pile. She grabbed one of the corpses and grimaced as she yanked the body free onto the floor.
The three men rushed to help her, unceremoniously throwing corpses away from the pile—except for Fin’s.
Owen gently lay his friend’s headless corpse on the floor. “I’ll do you better later,” he whispered before rushing back to help. Then, as he pulled free another corpse, he flinched, his breath catching in his throat.
Serina Greywynne lay on her back before them, sleeping as if the corpses had been a macabre blanket. She was naked, her arms folded across her small white breasts, her skin glistening in congealing blood. The stench of corruption hit Owen like a wall, and he backed away, gagging.
“Craftsman, save us,” said Lady Danika in a small voice.
Once again, Owen felt the stirrings of the same panic he had felt in the Great Crypt—the Dread. He knew they needed to act immediately, while they still could. If she awoke, she’d kill them all—he was certain of that. “Do it, Dilan!”
Dilan braced himself. Where Serina lay atop the corpses, she was perfectly positioned for a killing blow from Sight-Bringer.
“Hurry,” said Lady Danika, pleading.
“Father Craftsman, grant me strength,” said Dilan. Holding Sight-Bringer upside down—using both hands despite his wounded shoulder—Dilan positioned the sword’s point over her naked chest, just above her heart.
Time slowed to a crawl. Owen watched Sight-Bringer’s perfect steel blade gleaming in the torchlight over Serina’s dead white flesh. Her long, braided hair, drenched in blood, was almost unrecognizable as blond. The bizarre tattoos on her face seemed to writhe and move, like the patterns on the stones of the landing before her Great Crypt.
“Die, monster!” Dilan rammed Sight-Bringer through her heart. The perfect blade went right through her flesh, driving down into her, leaving only a foot of gleaming steel and the elaborate carved white hilt jutting above her breasts.
When Serina’s red eyes snapped open, Dilan fell back, letting go of the sword. She stared in confusion at the sword impaling her. At any moment, Owen knew, she’d shrivel and curl up into herself, like a dead spider—just as Keep-Captain Awde had.
But she didn’t.
Her eyes narrowed in rage, and she shrieked, smashing a fist against the blade jutting from her chest. The Illthori longsword shattered, pieces flying everywhere.
Serina sat up, pulled the remnants of Sight-Bringer’s blade from her back, and glared at Dilan and the others. “How dare you!”
Owen moved first, rushing forward with his dagger. Without even turning to face him, she backhanded him, sending him flying again. That time, he hit the far wall hard, and his vision erupted into bright light.
Vaguely, he became aware of screaming, of the sounds of battle. He shook his bleary head and saw that the remaining Wolfrey soldiers were inside the alehouse, battling Serina. Heat and light blanketed him—The alehouse is on fire.
Serina stood engulfed by flames, but they seemed to have no effect, and she lashed out at the warriors, shredding their bodies whenever they dared come near. Dilan, sword in hand, was among those fighting her.
Owen had to help. He rose but immediately fell to his knees. Then, someone grabbed him, yanking him to his feet. Wendel Dert was before him, shaking him, screaming at him to do something. Lady Danika stood just behind Dert, disbelief on her features.
Dert turned and thrust her at Owen. “Get her out of here, fool!” Then Dert spun away, sword held high as he charged at Serina.
Owen staggered toward the alehouse’s door, half carried by Lady Danika. He felt his terror—the Dread—spike at that moment, and looking over his shoulder, he saw Serina rip Dert’s head clear from his body in a shower of blood.
She turned and glared at Owen and Danika, her red eyes locked upon the two of them. “Now you die, niece of Stron,” she hissed.
One of the surviving guardsmen attacked her, but she disappeared in a blur, moving around the man, who was already falling, his throat ripped out.
She’s too fast. We’ll never make the door.
But then she must have stepped into the beam of sunlight stabbing through the opening Modwyn had made in the roof because she screamed in pain and spun away, her skin burning, and fell to her knees.
Before she could rise again, Dilan leaped upon her back, his arms wrapped around her neck. “Run, Owen!”
Then, Lady Danika dragged him away, out into the sunlight. Stumbling, they left the carnage behind.
“Where are we going?” he gasped, light-headed and disoriented.
“The bay,” she said. “We’re leaving this damned island.”
“But—”
“The kingdom needs to be warned. Serina is coming.”
The Shield of
Serl Raven-Eye
Book 2 of the Vampire Queen Saga
Part 1:
The Red Wolf
Chapter 1
Owen
The screams of dying men chased after Owen Toscovar as he and Lady Danika Dain stumbled away from the alehouse and the pitched battle that took place within it. Inside, his best friend, Dilan Reese, and a handful of others fought and died wh
ile he fled with the noblewoman, now the last of her line.
Their attempt to kill the legendary Blood Queen Serina Greywynne with the magical longsword Sight-Bringer had failed. They had fought their way inside the alehouse to find her sleeping beneath an obscene corpse pile, her naked body drenched in congealing blood. Sight-Bringer, also known as Blood Fiends’ Bane because of its power against the undead, should have destroyed her. But even though Dilan had driven the blade right through her chest, she had woken in a rage, unharmed by the three-foot-long sword impaling her heart. With a single blow of her fist, she had shattered the longsword, destroying the only weapon they had against her.
Then the true carnage had begun.
Now, Owen and Lady Danika made their way across the carcass-strewn village green of Port Eaton. Only minutes ago, this grassy area had been the scene of a pitched battle between the last surviving soldiers of the Dain-family garrison and the rebelling Islanders, all still fiercely loyal to Serina—despite the fact that she had been trapped in a coma-like state beneath the ruins of her fortress for almost half a century. He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it, his vision still blurry from being sent flying into a wall by Serina. He might have fallen, had Lady Danika not been there to help him. Owen, nicknamed Horse-Boy because of his size and violent temper, was far too large for the much-smaller noblewoman to support, but somehow that was exactly what she was doing.
Lady Danika was full of surprises.
She had risked her life, standing with Owen and the others when they had battled Serina’s ghouls—undead warriors sent by the queen to besiege the Dain-family fort. Then the noblewoman had accompanied the surviving soldiers on a desperate attack down from the fort and against the rebels protecting the alehouse where Serina hid from the daylight. Lady Danika had even accompanied the soldiers inside the alehouse to strike what should have been the lethal blow against Serina. The young noblewoman was far too brave to die here, far from their northern duchy of Wolfrey, but that was almost certainly her fate—as well as his.
We’re alone now. Far from home and surrounded by enemies.
They made their way through the seemingly deserted town, flanked by wattle-and-daub farmhouses, but Owen knew the townsfolk were only hiding. Once they realized the soldiers had been beaten, they’d be out in force, hunting for survivors. Owen eyed the residences warily, his heart pounding beneath his heavy ring-mail coat. If they catch us, will they kill us or hold us for Serina? He shuddered, imagining the feeling of Serina driving her fangs into his throat and drinking his blood.
Better if they kill us outright.
They passed the last of the town’s farmhouses, coming out near the path that led up the large hill that overlooked the town and its natural deep-water bay. Atop the hill was Stron’s Watch, the Dain-family fort, but there would be no help up there. Every surviving soldier had taken part in the assault on the alehouse. What are we going to do now?
Ahead of them, a man suddenly cried out in agony. Owen and Lady Danika froze, staring at the path. When they heard harsh laughter, they scurried into the trees on the side of the path, hiding behind a copse of bushes. No sooner were they out of sight than a small group of townsfolk appeared, three men and a woman dragging a fourth man by his heels. The man they dragged wore ring-mail armor, and Owen’s heart tightened when he recognized him—Barin, one of the garrison soldiers. An arrow shaft jutted from the inside of Barin’s thigh, high up near his groin, and his leather breeches were soaked with blood. Wounded during the advance from the fort to the alehouse, Barin must have been easy prey for the townsfolk.
Barin cried out again, begging them to stop. They did, and one of the men reached down and gripped Barin’s wounded leg by the ankle, yanked it high into the air, and then kicked the arrow in his leg. Barin’s scream sent a cold chill down Owen’s spine. Lady Danika reached over and gripped Owen’s hand, shaking her head, the message clear—do nothing. He closed his eyes, hating himself. I’m sorry, Barin, sorry, Dilan, sorry for everything this day.
“She’ll want ’im,” one of the men said. “She’ll be thirsty.”
“He’s already near bled out anyway,” another man said.
Barin, sobbing now, curled into a ball, until the woman moved between his legs and kicked his ankles apart. “She won’t care about one soldier,” she said, her eyes hard as stone. “I want his cock and balls.”
Now, Barin began to scream and plead, and Owen’s blood pounded in his ears. He tensed. Still groggy, still unsteady, he had to do something. He had to—
Lady Danika hugged him, placing her tear-streaked cheek against his as she whispered into his ear, “Don’t. Please don’t. We can’t help him, but someone needs to warn the kingdom.”
Owen held his breath, hating himself. He nodded, unable to look her in the eye. They crawled farther back into the trees, away from the path, away from the villagers now too occupied with holding down Barin and pulling off his breeches to notice them. When they were out of sight among the trees, they rose and began to move farther away. When Barin’s screams suddenly cut through the woods, Owen jerked as if run through by a sword. He inhaled deeply, his limbs trembling with pent-up rage and emotion.
Father Craftsman, help us.
#
They kept to the woods, Lady Danika leading them slowly toward the bay. Covered in sweat, they climbed up the far side of a brush-filled gully and for the first time saw the gleaming waters of the Promiscuous Sea, the beach, and the small dock with its wooden pier and dozens of fishing boats. The bay was deserted; the Islanders were far too busy rebelling to fish this day.
“My lady, what are we doing here?” He had grown up in the mountains of the northern duchy of Wolfrey. He could no more sail a boat than he could fly.
“We need to get off the island,” she said, her gaze locked on the pier.
“But…what is it you expect me to do?”
“Help me take a boat. I’ll sail it.”
“My lady—”
“I can sail, Owen. It is Owen, isn’t it?” She turned to regard him with her brown eyes.
She looked so tired, so utterly exhausted. “Owen Toscovar, my lady.”
“Your family raises horses, yes?”
“They do.”
“I remember you, Owen. Help me take a boat, and I’ll sail us from here. If we die here, Serina will move against the kingdom by surprise. She’ll grow a new undead army. Within months, she’ll become unstoppable.”
“How is it you know how to sail?”
“I learned years ago when I visited our holdings here with my father. One of the locals taught me. I liked sailing, and I took to it easily. I’m not much of a mariner, but I can get us out to sea. Maybe if we sail northwest, we might run into a merchant vessel heading for Port Ollechta.”
“My lady… the chances—”
“Do you have another plan, Owen?”
He shook his head.
She rose into a crouch, turning to face him. “Okay, then, let’s go steal a—”
Her eyes widened in fear. Owen spun about just as Modwyn Du’Aig, the former Dain-family physician, stepped out from behind a large oak. The tall, thin, and effeminate physician had murdered Danika’s younger brother, Palin, cutting his throat open and using his blood to awaken Serina from her decades-long slumber. Now, Modwyn’s eyes shone with hunger as he stared at Danika, ignoring Owen. A raw, oozing burn glistened on his left cheek where Danika had struck him with a torch earlier, driving him from the alehouse where he had been protecting the sleeping Serina. Owen moved in front of Lady Danika. Twice Modwyn’s size and a trained man-at-arms, he should have been more than a match for Modwyn—but he also remembered how supernaturally fast and strong the physician had been in the alehouse, how he had broken a soldier’s neck with his bare hands before leaping at least a dozen feet straight up into the rafters to escape. Something had happened to Modwyn, something that made him very dangerous.
Now, Modwyn’s gaze drifted to Owen, and he snorted. “
Looks like you’re all out of friends to help you now, Horse-Boy.”
“Get away from us, murderer,” Lady Danika said, anger straining her voice.
Modwyn stepped closer, an unpleasant leer curling his lips. “Get away from you? No, I think not. I think, instead, I’m going to kill this man, and I’m going to make you watch. Then I’m going to strip you naked and give you what I’ve always wanted—right in your cold, mossy cave. When I’m finished with you, you’ll beg for death, but you won’t get it. I’ll give you to the queen instead.”
“I’ll die first,” she said.
“You’ll die later, Dain bitch, consumed by the queen.”
Owen made his move, slipping forward into a wrestler’s stance as he reached for the other man—but Modwyn darted away with unbelievable speed, extending his leg to trip Owen as he did. Owen slammed face-first into the forest floor. Before he could rise, Modwyn straddled his back, gripping him around the chin with both hands as he pulled back. Pain lanced through Owen’s neck.
He’s going to snap my neck!
“Horse-Boy,” Modwyn sneered into his ear, his breath hot. “After what the queen has done to me, you’re nothing more than an insect.”
Owen felt the cartilage scrape in his neck.
Then Modwyn screamed and fell off him. Owen scrambled to his knees just in time to see Modwyn staggering back, gasping, his hand against the small of his back. Lady Danika stood between them, holding Sight-Bringer before her with both hands. The white stone hilt was carved in the likeness of a strange, beast-like woman with her outstretched arms forming the cross guard. Its once long, flawlessly beautiful blade was now broken, with only about six inches of jagged, knifelike steel remaining. The sword was a relic of the long-dead Illthori race, strange beings who had crafted a civilization of magic and wonder before disappearing into the dusts of time, leaving behind only mystery and a handful of priceless magical relics. Not only was the sword anathema to blood fiends and ghouls, but it also enhanced the bearer’s strength, speed, and senses. No one now living knew why the Illthori needed a sword that could destroy undead, but it was only because of that weapon that Lady Danika’s famous uncle, Stron, had been able to stop Serina’s rebellion a half century ago, killing many of her blood-fiend captains and leading to the battle that had trapped Serina below ground.
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 27