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

by William Stacey

  “We can’t wait, Owen. I ordered Kora to sail away with Fen Wolf if there was trouble. It may already be too late.”

  In resignation, he watched the backs of the guards, now much farther away. He could just make out the young man, still excitedly drawing the guards on. “All right,” he said as he rose into a crouch, “let’s go.”

  His head spun about as he heard the galloping of the horses’ hooves. Moments later, a wagon pulled by two draft horses cut across the tall grass, coming from the opposite direction the soldiers had gone. The driver, a young woman, pulled to a sudden stop not ten paces away. She stood up on the bench, holding the harness reins as she frantically waved at Owen and Fioni. Recognition coursed through Owen—the driver was the same young woman who had tried to steal from Lady Danika. She was pleading with them in Hishtari, motioning toward the back of the wagon. Fioni and Owen exchanged confused glances.

  Then the young woman, her eyes wild, spoke in heavily accented trade common. “Get in or die.”

  Owen, his arm around Fioni’s waist, helped her along, dragging her toward the wagon, a large four-wheeled farmer’s cart, the same kind Owen’s family had used to carry feed and manure. He helped her over the wagon’s high wooden bed before climbing over himself, landing atop a blanket covering a large pile with the consistency of dirt. The young woman who looked so much like Tanda held up the edge of the filthy blanket and motioned for them to crawl beneath it. As he had suspected from the smell, a mixture of feces, urine, hair, soil, and feathers covered the bed.

  Fioni’s face went white as she stared at the wagon’s contents buzzing with an army of flies, shiny beetles, and worms. “Gods, what is this?”

  “Farm life,” said Owen. “Nothing that will kill you.”

  Fioni and Owen crawled under the blanket, and the young woman pulled it up over them. A moment later, the wagon began rolling again.

  “Gods, help us, this is foul,” Fioni whispered.

  “Breathe through your mouth.”

  “Shh,” the young woman hushed them.

  The manure had the consistency of dirt and moldy hay, and the stench was ripe, but he had been around horses all his life and was used to this. He felt something crawling across his bare chest and fought the urge to swat it away. When the wagon’s wheels began to roll smoother, he realized they must be on a road now. The wheels squeaked, and the horses’ hooves plodded along in an easy canter. Ahead, a man called out in Hishtari, and the wagon rolled to a stop. A cold sweat broke over his skin as the young woman answered the man.

  A checkpoint?

  He tried to pull his arms in tight against his side and sink deeper into the manure. Light flooded the back of the wagon as someone yanked up a corner of the blanket, and he forced himself to remain still. The young woman said something in a pleading tone and was met by silence. The wagon rocked as someone climbed up onto its side. Without warning, a gleaming spear blade cut through the blanket—right between Fioni’s thighs—hitting the manure pile so deeply that its point thudded into the bottom of the wagon. Fioni dug her nails painfully into Owen’s arm. Then, the spearhead was yanked back, and a man said something in a tone that was laced with disgust. The young woman answered contritely. Moments later, the wagon began rolling again. Owen heaved a heavy sigh of relief, and Fioni let go of his arm.

  “You broke the skin,” he whispered.

  “Don’t be such a guppy.”

  The young woman shushed them again.

  They heard other horses and then the chattering of crowds. Owen peeked beneath the edge of the blanket, through the wooden slats of the wagon bed, and saw that they were within the packed streets of Docktown, but it looked to be a poorer section than the pier. Beggars in rags, drunkenly reeling sailors, and barely dressed whores went about their business. Huge wooden warehouses blocked his view, but rising above the warehouses, he saw the tall masts of trade ships.

  He turned to Fioni and mouthed the word dock.

  Her eyes tightened, and she nodded.

  If they could steal a small boat, it was only a short hop across the bay back to Cos Town and—hopefully—Fen Wolf.

  What then? What about Lady Danika?

  How many Dains am I going to fail?

  He’d figure something out. He had to. However, he’d need help; he’d need the others aboard Fen Wolf. Once again, the wagon rolled to a halt, and Owen heard a whispered exchange between the young woman and a man. Then he heard the squeaking of wooden doors swinging open. He risked a quick peek under the edge of the blanket again and saw a large wooden building, a warehouse of some type, with open doors. A man walked past the side of the wagon, and Owen ducked back beneath the blanket. The man—not one of the Hishtari soldiers—had been holding a large wooden cudgel against his thigh.

  All Owen’s senses began screaming in warning.

  The wagon lurched forward again, the horses’ hooves now clomping on tightly packed dirt and echoing off walls. The wagon stopped almost immediately, and he heard the doors shutting once more. The wagon bed rocked under the weight of someone climbing up onto it, and the blanket was suddenly yanked free, exposing Owen and Fioni. Staring down at them were two young men—one of whom had been the man who had led the guards away earlier. Both young men gripped heavy wooden cudgels. Owen scrambled to sit up and defend himself with Sight-Bringer, but a cudgel smashed into his temple, and he fell back, his vision already gone dark.

  Chapter 30

  Kora

  Kora Far-Sails balanced atop the wooden wolf’s head at the prow of Fen Wolf and stared out across the bay at the now-dark city walls of Daenipor. Behind her, the crew silently watched, waiting for a decision. Nearby, Ekkie whined pitifully and then dropped her large head upon her front paws.

  I can’t put this off much longer.

  It had been several hours now since they had first heard the alarm bells from the Rose Palace. Something had gone wrong, as she had known it would. Once again, the Hishtari had given their word and then broken it. Damn Fioni and her stubbornness!

  Rolf Fork-Beard cleared his throat. “Kora, the Otter comes.”

  Kora bit her lip, still staring across the bay. “Aye, I saw him.”

  Erland the Otter, in bright scarlet-and-yellow robes, stepped onto the far end of the wooden pier. Five of his bodyguards accompanied him, nervous men who warily watched the Fenyir crew as they hurried along behind their master.

  Kora jumped from the wolf’s head to the pier, landing with the silent sure-footedness of a jungle cat. “Come. Let’s see what the Master of Smuggler’s Island has learned.”

  Rolf climbed up and over the hull, crashing down on the pier beside her, his plates of baleen armor clacking noisily. As they waited, Rolf lowered his voice to a whisper. “The crew is unhappy. They want to do something.”

  “What would you have me do, attack the city with a single longship? Even if we knew where Fioni was—or even if we knew she was still alive—there’s nothing we could do.”

  “I know, but—”

  “She’s my best friend and my commander, but I’ve made a promise.”

  “What will you do?”

  On her hip, she wore Fioni’s sword, Wave’s Kiss, the blade that Fioni’s dying father had given her, the blade that had once belonged to Fioni’s great-grandfather, Serl Raven-Eye. She ran her fingers over the blood gem embedded in its hilt, felt its strange warmth through her fingertips. Forty-eight years ago, her own grandmother sailed with Serl on Iron Beard to this very island. Forty-eight years ago, her grandmother had also held Wave’s Kiss, safeguarding it for Serl while he entered the Rose Palace under the Moon Lord’s surety of safe passage. Forty-eight years ago, the Moon Lord had broken his word and seized Serl. Then, as now, duty had compelled her grandmother to flee on Iron Beard, leaving their commander to the Hishtari. The gods must be laughing.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” she finally answered Rolf.

  Erland approached, his face pale, his eyes darting past her to the unhappy faces of the Fe
nyir warriors still aboard the ship, watching him. Whatever had happened had had nothing to do with him, Kora knew, but he was still a Hishtari and therefore guilty by race.

  “Greetings, Kora Far-Sails,” Erland said.

  “What do you know, Erland?” Kora asked him.

  Erland hesitated, his eyes fearful, as if he expected Kora to attack him on the spot—a not entirely unheard-of possibility, to be honest; she did have a bit of a temper.

  “I am ashamed to say this, Kora, but it appears the situation in the city is as we feared. Kory’ander Dey has broken his promise of safe passage—although the palace guards are telling the people that Fioni and the others tried to assassinate the Moon Lord.”

  An angry murmur arose from the crew behind her, and Erland’s men stiffened, their fingers trailing over the handles of their weapons. Kora lifted her hand, silencing the crew.

  Erland continued. “My sources within the Bent Men say that there was a battle in the throne room and many guards were killed.”

  “So Fioni and Vory gain entry to the palace—unarmed—and then attack the Moon Lord in his own throne room? Does this make sense to you, Erland?”

  Erland couldn’t meet her eyes. He shook his head. “I am sorry, Kora. But what has been done cannot be undone.”

  “What of Fioni?”

  “They say two of the assassins jumped to their deaths from the walls of the palace, but…”

  “But what?”

  He sighed, glancing past her to the distant city walls. “The palace guards are searching Docktown and the surrounding shoreline—many guards. Perhaps someone…escaped?”

  A faint promise of hope rose within Kora’s gut. “Can you help?”

  His eyes betrayed a trace of fear, and he shook his head. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

  She stepped forward, her anger spiking.

  Rolf grabbed her arm. “Think, Kora,” he hissed into her ear. “Don’t be rash.”

  Her anger still bubbling over, she pushed Rolf’s hand away and glared at Erland. “Explain!”

  “I have no control in Docktown. It belongs to another within the Bent Men, a…competitor. If this competitor were to learn I wanted to help Fioni, he’d do everything within his power to frustrate me. It would be best for my hands to remain…out of Docktown. But I have spies.”

  She ground her teeth and made fists, driving her nails into her palms, and stared past Erland, into the forested terrain surrounding Cos Town, unable to look at the man.

  “What will you do, Kora Far-Sails?” Erland asked her, a tremor of uncertainty in his voice.

  All their eyes were on her now—Erland and his men, the crew, Rolf’s. Everyone was waiting on her. But what could she do? There was no way to cross the bay and approach the city or the Rose Palace without being seen. As soon as Fen Wolf came near the city, the Hishtari would raise the alarm. Even at night, they’d have patrol vessels out on the water, watching. No doubt spies within Cos Town were already reporting on her actions. She needed an army to take that palace, and she didn’t have one.

  Her frustration grew, became a pounding beat in her head.

  I’ve sworn an oath to Fioni.

  I have no choice.

  I never did.

  She addressed Rolf and the crew. “Prepare to sail. We’re leaving.”

  Chapter 31

  Danika

  Danika sat in her cell, shivering. The two torturers sat on stools on opposite sides of a small lopsided table, on which sat a playing board of some type with small, crudely carved bone playing pieces. They ignored her while chatting amiably to one another and moving the pieces about the board.

  Are the others dead?

  Am I alone?

  When a roach the size of her thumb skittered across her bare feet, she jerked back in fear. The men paused in their game to smirk at her. She pulled her knees in tighter against her chest, trying to make herself smaller. When someone pounded on the door and then yelled out in Hishtari, she flinched. The tall thin man with the big ears rose from his game and lifted the heavy metal bar from the door, admitting two more guards carrying a large man between them—Vory!

  She scrambled forward on hands and knees as they threw him, his wrists bound behind his back with rope, to the filthy floor. He groaned in pain, his red hair matted to his face with blood, one of his eyes so badly swollen, he couldn’t open it. Like her, he was naked, with his body covered in crusted blood and bruises. He lifted his large bearded head and stared at Danika, his one good eye filled with sorrow. “Courage…the gods are watching,” he said with a thick voice.

  One of the guards kicked him in the ribs.

  “Stop it!” Danika yelled.

  The guard kicked him several more times, clearly enjoying her distress. Then the fat torturer stormed over to her cage and smashed his palm into the bars, sending her scurrying away. Their laughter vanished when the old woman walked through the doorway, leading the young blind boy with the white hair. All four men straightened to positions of attention, their eyes filled with sudden fear. The woman stopped the boy before Danika’s cage. Now, two servants entered, struggling with a litter between them, setting it down beside the boy. Sitting on a chair on the litter, a thick blanket pulled up to his birdlike neck, was the same ancient man she had glimpsed earlier inside the purple palanquin. His lined face had the consistency of yellowed parchment; his nearly bald head was dark with liver spots; his ears and nose seemed comically large, with tufts of white hair extending from within the dark pits of his ears, but it was his black eyes that drew her attention. Glass-like and dark, like the eyes of a stuffed badger her father had kept in his solarium, they were the eyes of a man without a soul. A cold sweat coated her skin.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “You know who I am,” the boy said. Her gaze drifted from the blind boy to the old man, and she realized with sudden clarity that she was conversing with the old man, not the boy.

  And she did know who he was.

  “You’re Kalishni’coor,” she said, addressing the old man. “The former Moon Lord of Daenipor.”

  The old man smiled, exposing nearly toothless gums.

  “Still the Moon Lord of Daenipor,” he said through the boy, who she now realized was some sort of unholy vessel. “My great-grandson is nothing more than a puppet and always has been.”

  “But you must be—”

  “One hundred and eight years old.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I don’t care to tell you. I don’t think you understand how torture works. I will be the one asking questions, not you. And if you don’t answer my questions, these men are going to hurt you—in ways you can’t even imagine.”

  “I am a member of the Dain family, one of the noblest families in the Kingdom of Conarck. The king will—”

  “Your feeble king will do nothing, not for a daughter of a fallen family. Why are you here?”

  “I am on a mission to broker an end to the Fenyir raiding.”

  The old man cocked his bald, liver-spotted head. “Do you want us to hurt you?”

  “I was promised safe passage.”

  “One does not make promises with Conarckian whores. But I am not without mercy. Tell me what I wish to know, and I’ll send you back to your kingdom, with your lovely skin intact—well, mostly intact.”

  “I told you the truth. We came to put an end to the Fenyir raiding—”

  The old man closed his dark eyes and raised a single trembling hand to wag a long bony finger at her.

  “Liar, liar,” the boy said.

  “Why don’t you go jack off a whale, you senile, wrinkled ball sack,” Vory said, his words garbled through mangled lips but clear enough. “You and that white-haired, white-eyed obscenity you speak through.”

  The guards fell upon him, savagely kicking and striking him. Eventually, they stopped, their breathing heavy. Vory groaned in pain but then began to chuckle.

  “Look at me, whore.”

  Trembling,
she stared into the old man’s black eyes.

  “You need to understand this. Your life and sanity depend upon it. I have not left my quarters in years—it’s been so long, in fact, I don’t remember the last time. The spells that prolong my life drain my energy. All I want to do is to lie down and rest. Instead, I find myself in this drafty torture chamber being lied to by you and insulted by this Fenyir dog. This is a mistake you can’t possibly comprehend.”

  Cold sweat ran between her breasts. “What do you want?”

  “Start with the queen. Serina. Is she truly alive?”

  Danika forced conviction into her voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Kalishni’coor closed his dark eyes. The boy turned his blind gaze upon the fat acne-scarred torturer. “Start with the ears, then the nose. Leave the lips and eyelids for last.”

  The torturer inclined his head as he drew the same wickedly sharp knife he had used earlier to strip Danika. “Yes, Moon Lord.”

  A shudder of revulsion coursed through Danika as the guards held the now-struggling Vory while the fat torturer gripped Vory’s head by the chin and wrenched it up toward him. Vory’s eyes were wild.

  “Please, stop!” Danika recognized the rising hysteria in her voice.

  In a single effortless movement, the torturer cut Vory’s right ear free, dropping it with a wet slop upon the stone floor of the chamber. Vory roared, cursing the men as fresh blood streamed down the side of his neck.

  Danika screamed, begging them to stop.

  The old man smiled; the boy’s face was stone.

  “I changed my mind. Go ahead and take the lips now and then the tongue. That way we won’t have to listen to him anymore.”

  As the fat torturer gripped Vory’s lower lip and placed the edge of the knife against it, Danika broke, gasping in huge, sobbing breaths. “Wait. It’s true. Don’t hurt him. It’s true.”