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

by William Stacey

  Chapter 48

  Owen

  Owen stared in disbelief as Brice Awde, the former Keep-Captain of the Dain-family garrison, stood watching him from the far end of the hallway. Turned into a blood fiend by Serina, Brice Awde had driven Sight-Bringer through his own heart, killing himself. Owen had seen his corpse wither and rot, drifting away as ashes—yet there he was now, watching him, whole once again. Without a word, Awde tossed his head in the direction of one of the corridors and then walked out of sight down it, the message clear—follow me.

  Owen followed, knowing he pursued a ghost.

  When Owen reached the intersection, Awde stood waiting down the far corridor. Owen followed, and Awde led on, always keeping his distance, never allowing Owen to come too close. Awde led him outside, into a courtyard shining under a bright moon, and toward a silent, dark tower. On the steps leading up to the tower’s entrance, Awde paused, once again silently watching Owen.

  Owen’s head spun about as he heard the clash of steel upon steel—the fighting had started. He felt a momentary pang of guilt but forced it down; his duty was to Lady Danika this night. When his gaze returned to the tower, Awde was gone. The entrance stood open and dark.

  This was where Awde had led him.

  This was where he’d find Lady Danika.

  He broke into a run, took the stairs to the tower two at a time, and disappeared within. Now, an alarm gong was beating, reverberating throughout the palace. An unexplainable yet irresistible need to reach the upper level drove Owen on. A set of steps spiraled up the tower, and Owen sprinted up them, desperate now to reach the top. Within moments, he arrived on the topmost floor of the tower across from an open black door leading into a chamber. When he heard the muffled screams of a woman, he burst through the doorway and into a nightmare.

  Bodies lay about in pools of blood and gore. Lady Danika—naked, with her wrists bound above her head—thrashed and strained where she was secured against a wooden rack. Modwyn, his back to Owen, held her eye open with one hand as he brought the red-hot tip of a fireplace poker closer with the other.

  Too far away to stop him in time, Owen threw Sight-Bringer. The broken sword spun through the air, but—poorly balanced—missed Modwyn’s head, instead burying itself deeply into the wooden frame of the rack just below Lady Danika’s bound wrists.

  Modwyn spun, his one eye widening in alarm. Owen charged him with his curved Hishtari sword. Modwyn threw the poker at Owen and struck him in the chest. Searing pain lanced through Owen as the red-hot metal sizzled against his skin, and he dropped his sword as he batted the poker free, tearing flesh with it.

  Modwyn smashed into Owen, sending him flying through the air and knocking him onto his back. In a blur, Modwyn leaped atop Owen, straddling his chest. He screamed incoherently at Owen as he flailed away with wild punches, striking him so hard that Owen’s vision went blurry. In desperation, Owen brought his arms up to cover his face. Modwyn punched him repeatedly, the blows feeling like metal rods against his forearms.

  Modwyn paused. “This is the last time you interfere with your betters, Horse-Boy. After I pull your spine out of your mouth, I’ll bring that Dain bitch to the queen. She’ll make me immortal.”

  While Modwyn gloated, Owen reached up and gripped both of the other man’s wrists, knowing he couldn’t hold the supernaturally powerful man for more than a few moments, if even that.

  Modwyn stared at Owen’s hands on his wrists and cackled. “What is it you think you’re doing, Horse-Boy?”

  Through swollen, mashed lips, Owen replied. “Holding you.”

  Modwyn’s expression displayed his disbelief. “For what?”

  “For me,” said Lady Danika from Modwyn’s other side—his blind side.

  In her hands, she gripped the poker.

  Modwyn jerked in surprise, but Owen held him in place as she thrust the red-hot eye of the poker into his one good eye. When the heated metal touched the eyeball, the pulpy flesh exploded. Modwyn screamed, now tearing free of Owen and rolling about on the blood-covered floor.

  Owen staggered to his feet, picked up the Hishtari sword he had dropped earlier, and approached the traitor who had caused so much grief. He stared down at the sad excuse of a man. Dilan, Lord Palin, Fin, all the Wolfrey soldiers. So many dead because of him.

  Modwyn rose to his knees, holding his face in both hands and looking up, as if he could somehow sense Owen’s presence. Gripping the sword with both hands, Owen cut down at him, taking Modwyn’s head off with a single blow. As Modwyn’s corpse fell, his head thudded and rolled across the floor, coming to an abrupt halt against the far wall.

  Lady Danika threw herself into Owen’s arms. “It’s all right,” he said as he hugged her. “No one’s going to hurt you again. You’re safe now.”

  “Thank…thank you for coming back,” she sobbed.

  “Thank Keep-Captain Awde.”

  She pulled back, staring at him in confusion. “What?”

  “Never mind,” he said as he pulled one of the torturer’s cloaks from a peg on the wall and handed it to her. “We need to get out of here.”

  Throwing the cloak over her shoulders, she returned to the rack and pried Sight-Bringer free. It had stuck to the wood deeply enough to remain in place while she had used its keen edge to cut her leather bonds free. He led her from the torture chamber, his arm around her shoulder. The sounds of battle became much clearer as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Chapter 49

  Fioni

  As Hringol edged toward Fioni, swinging his fighting axe one-handed back and forth, cutting the air in lazy arcs, Fioni held Wave’s Kiss with both hands above her head, her muscles loose but ready. The high guard gave her more power and heft against Hringol’s heavy axe, but it also exposed her if she couldn’t parry quickly enough—and she knew how fast Hringol was.

  As the other three men advanced on Astra and Herlin, her cousin—gutless piece of whale shit that he was—stood watching. “Don’t kill her,” Galas said. “She’s going to mother my children.”

  Fioni snorted. “I’d sooner smother them.”

  Hringol hesitated, a momentary flash of uncertainty in his eyes, and Fioni attacked first, darting forward and to his left, coming at him with a powerful overhead cut at his head. He darted back, catching her blade on his axe head, but she disengaged, coming over his axe head to strike at him from the other side. He caught her blade again, but only just in time; she saw the same realization in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Hringol?” she taunted. “Finding it hard to take me alive?”

  She pressed her attack again, coming at him in a series of cuts and thrusts, spatially aware that the others fought just beside her, but unable to do more than focus on her own battle. Hringol must have realized he couldn’t hold back against her, because he came on with a renewed ferocity, at one point almost cleaving her skull in with his axe head.

  “Careful, fool!” yelled Galas.

  Her back hit the doors of the Water Gate, and Hringol rushed in, trying to crowd her. She feinted, jabbing at his face with her sword point before trying to cut his forearm instead. He swept back, catching her sword’s edge on the shaft of his axe, and then came in at her again, his axe whistling through the air in a two-handed overhead cut. But she had already dropped down onto one knee, stabbing the point of Wave’s Kiss into the top of his booted foot, and his axe instead struck the wooden bar holding the door, lodging deeply into it. She yanked her sword free as Hringol screamed and hopped back on one foot, his axe still stuck in the bar. Without rising, she lashed out, one handed, cutting his leg off at the knee. Hringol fell, rolling and screaming, clutching at his leg.

  She finished him with a single cut. “Not that good with an axe, after all.”

  Nearby, Herlin lay motionless next to the body of one of his opponents. Astra still faced a man, but the other was already down, clutching at his belly. She became aware now of the clang of an alarm and saw at least a dozen Hishtari guards running
toward Galas. He threw himself atop one of the horses, his eyes wide with panic.

  Dropping Wave’s Kiss, she gripped Hringol’s axe and wrenched it free. She put her back to the guards and hacked down at the bar. A chunk of wood flew away, but the bar held. She heard the pounding of hooves behind her and threw herself to the side just as Galas’s horse hit the gate, snapping the bar in two and sending the gates flying open. In a moment, he was gone, pounding away into the night.

  “No!” she screamed, grasping at Wave’s Kiss and jumping back to her feet.

  With Galas gone, the guards now rushed Astra. She tried to hold them back, but there were too many of them, and she went down beneath their pole-arms. Several stood above her, repeatedly stabbing down at her while the others came for Fioni. She recognized the guard captain Owen had attacked, his arm still in a sling. He pointed at Fioni with his other hand, yelling orders to his men.

  She screamed in frustration and rage as the guards came at her. Then the air behind her snapped and cracked. Something flew past her head, and several of the guards flew back through the air as if punched by a giant, including the guard captain. She saw the glint of a crossbow bolt through his forehead. Her heart leaped into her throat as Fenyir warriors sped past her, engaging the surviving guards, cutting them down in moments.

  Kora stood before her. “What took you so long?”

  “Little busy,” Fioni panted.

  “A horseman got past us,” Kora said.

  “The gods-damned Gilt-Mane has slipped away again.”

  #

  Fioni pointed at the closed ornate doors leading to Kory’ander Dey’s throne room. At her feet lay the bodies of four guardsmen who had refused to surrender. “Do it,” she ordered.

  Kora, her two swords bloody, nodded at the crew members standing before the doors. The two men gripped the heavy brass rings, each the size of a man’s head, and pulled the thick doors open, allowing a gap for the four Fenyir raiders with the crossbows to step forward into the throne room. Kora and Fioni followed, with a half dozen more Fenyir warriors behind them.

  The Rose Palace had fallen. With Fen Wolf’s crew within the walls, the few remaining Hishtari guards had surrendered. In minutes, Fen Wolf’s crew had secured the palace, raising the drawbridge leading to the city—where it seemed most of the palace garrison were still searching for Fioni and Owen. If she wanted to, Fioni could hold this place for weeks, but she and her crew would be back aboard Fen Wolf within the hour, considerably richer. First, though, the Hishtari had something that belonged to her and her family, and she wanted it back.

  Atop the dais at the rear of the throne room, a clearly terrified Kory’ander Dey peered out at them from behind his throne. Her crew’s boot steps echoed across the marble floor as they advanced upon him. The functionary who had met them at the shoreline, Yuri, stood beside the two remaining guards in front of the steps leading up to the dais.

  “Kill them!” Kory’ander Dey shrieked.

  Both guards, one with the mask of a lion, the other with a fox, stood frozen. A moment later, they both dropped their pole-arms and fell to their knees, their hands outstretched.

  Yuri spun and pointed at Kory’ander Dey in terror. “Take him, just don’t kill us.”

  Her warriors rushed forward to bind all three of them, and Fioni shook her head as she placed one booted foot upon the marble step leading to the dais. “Come down here right now!”

  Kory’ander Dey bolted, running for the same side passage she and Owen had used to escape.

  With little hurry, she picked up a fallen pole-arm, hefted it, and in one smooth motion, threw it at the fleeing man. The spear punctured the back of his thigh, sending him skidding to the floor, where he screamed in agony. Fioni stepped on his ankle and ripped the weapon free, eliciting another howl.

  She sighed. “Oh, stop it. It isn’t that bad.” Actually, it did look kind of bad, but he was making a lot of noise. “Where is Lady Danika, and where is my first mate?”

  “We’re here,” a familiar voice called out from behind—

  Owen!

  Relief flooded through her when she saw the large blond warrior, bloodied and bruised but alive. He held one arm around Lady Danika, supporting her. She wore only a cloak, her face pale, her exposed skin striped with whip marks. Fire burned within Fioni, and she glared at the prostrate form of the young Moon Lord, still clutching at his wounded leg. She gripped his hair and yanked his head up. “Where is my first mate?”

  “He’s dead,” Lady Danika said. “I’m sorry. He was very brave. He fought back, but the Blue Man slaughtered him for it.”

  Fioni’s shoulders sagged, and she looked away, out past the throne to the city now lit up by the dawn’s glow. She swallowed hard, almost choking. For eight years, Vory had been her first mate and her friend. Before that, he had sailed for her father.

  “Of course that great bear fought back,” Kora said, her voice cracking. “Never did know when to stop.”

  “Who is this Blue Man?” said Fioni through gritted teeth.

  “The stories about Kalishni’coor were true,” Lady Danika said. “He’s still alive, a necromancer, and an ally of Serina’s. He’s the true power in the city.” She glared down at Kory’ander Dey. “This fool is nothing.”

  Kora looked from Kory’ander Dey to Lady Danika. “So that means that the man who murdered Serl Raven-Eye is—”

  “Still alive,” said Lady Danika.

  “Not for much longer,” said Fioni. “All right, then, Moon Lord. Let’s go see this Blue Man. He has much to answer for.”

  Chapter 50

  Danika

  With Owen supporting her, Danika stumbled along after the others. He had tried to convince her to remain behind while they confronted the man who had caused her so much pain, but she had refused. She had to face him one last time. Besides, the magic of Sight-Bringer, which she still gripped beneath her cloak, gave her strength. Ahead of her and Owen, the injured Kory’ander Dey—carried by two of Fioni’s crew members—led the armed group to his great-grandfather’s quarters in a section of the palace that seemed almost a different place, with dark, empty hallways and an oppressive, heavy atmosphere, as if the shadows had substance.

  Fen Wolf now lay anchored alongside the palace, next to the building that contained the winch for the giant chain that ran across the river. When they were done here, the chain would be released to run out, and Fen Wolf and its crew would make their escape. If their luck held, they’d have the shield of Serl Raven-Eye in hand and the Blue Man would be dead.

  Ahead, the corridor ended before a set of closed wooden doors so old, the timbers were now black. Fioni considered the doors. “Open them.”

  Two of her warriors pushed on the doors, which creaked but held.

  “Does he think we’re just going to go away?” Fioni asked.

  Danika slipped out from beneath Owen’s arms and staggered closer, swaying with the effort. “Don’t let him get away, not after what he’s done.” She heard the emotion in her own voice, fought to maintain her calm. “He has to pay.”

  Fioni watched her with surprising tenderness. “Don’t worry. He’ll pay.” She pointed her sword at the doors. “Axes.”

  Two warriors began to hack away at the doors, timing their blows so they hit one after the other. The timbers shattered inwards, and the remains of the doors swung wide. Fioni strode through first, followed by the others. The chamber was dark, but with Sight-Bringer’s aid, Danika saw clearly. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a menagerie of exotic stuffed animals, their visages locked in hostile grimaces, glared at them. Laboratory tables covered with glass beakers, jars, and long copper tubes took up much of the chamber. The floor was filthy with dust and debris, and spiderwebs hung from the corners and ceiling, glistening under the light of their torches. The stench was disgusting, worse than a tanner’s shack, hitting them in the face with waves of rot and mildew. Most disturbing of all, though, were the occult markings that covered the walls and ceiling. No m
atter how she squinted at them, they defied description.

  Pain throbbed between her eyes, and she looked away, feeling dizzy.

  “You dare?” asked a voice she knew all too well.

  Kalishni’coor sat in the darkness at the rear of the chamber, a blanket over his knees, alone but for the white-haired boy standing like a statue behind him. A tremor of fear ran down Danika’s spine when she looked into those black eyes.

  Fioni was less impressed. “This withered foreskin with ears is the infamous Blue Man?”

  “That’s him,” whined Kory’ander Dey. “I’ve done as you asked. Now let me go.”

  Fioni frowned and pointed to the floor, where her warriors unceremoniously dropped the young man. Once again, he shrieked in pain.

  “Be silent, idiot,” Kalishni’coor said through the boy.

  Now, Fioni’s warriors stared uneasily at the boy and then at one another.

  “What is happening here?” Fioni asked.

  “Kalishni’coor speaks through the boy,” said Danika.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m old and speaking tires me. Because my true voice is power and I save it for things that matter. Because using my own voice to converse with Fenyir scum like you is beneath me. Pick whichever answer pleases you. I don’t give a wet shit.”

  “Just kill him now,” said Danika. “He cast a spell on Vory.”

  “Soon enough,” said Fioni. “Where is my great-grandfather’s shield, old man? Tell me, and I’ll give you a quick death, more than you deserve.”

  The sound of Kalishni’coor’s dry cackle sent chills down Danika’s spine. “Don’t speak to him,” she insisted, her panic rising. “Kill him!”

  Kalishni’coor’s black eyes shone with amusement. “When I put you back on the rack, you Conarckian whore, you’ll scream for days—until she comes for you.”

  “Where is the shield?” Fioni repeated.

  “Behind you, on the worktable. Help yourself.” Kalishni’coor lifted a bony hand and pointed with trembling fingers.