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

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The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 72

by William Stacey


  Owen

  The narrow Mouth of the Gods seemed to rush upon them as Fen Wolf sped toward the gap between the Godswall and the numerous rocky, fanglike spires thrusting out of the water. The thunderous crashing of the waves became impossibly loud, drowning out all but screams. Owen, standing behind Fioni, held on tightly to Lady Danika, who gripped him around the waist. Fioni, still holding Sight-Bringer against the handle of the tiller, stood tall, staring at the hazard before them, her mouth open in incredulity. Fen Wolf’s prow rose and then crashed down again, jarring their bones. Water sprayed in their faces, the mist ever-present in the cataclysm they sailed into. Lady Danika’s grip around his waist tightened, and Owen watched in horror, his mouth dry, as Fen Wolf thrust forward—heading straight for the closest rock fangs—a rocky pinnacle easily twice the width of the ship. Time seemed to slow.

  Fen Wolf’s stern rose as a wave pushed them up, sending the longship sliding straight down at the fang. Seawater crashed over the prow. Teeth clenched, Fioni screamed as she pulled back on the tiller, “Hard to steering board!”

  “Hard to steering board!” Kora repeated, her voice barely audible over the din.

  The crew on the port side lifted their oars completely out of the water, holding them straight up. Those on the steering board side thrust their oars deep, hauling back on them. And, impossibly, Fen Wolf skewed to the right, at the last moment slipping past the rocky fang, so close that had the oars still been in the water, the fang would have snapped them into kindling.

  A moment later, they sailed into the Mouth.

  The steeply sided cliffs of the Godswall rose up around them, now towering over them. The frenzied waters gripped the ship, tossing it about and sending crew members falling atop one another. Owen, holding onto a guide rope with all his strength, only just managed to stay upright. Waves cascaded over the hull, filling the ship ankle-deep in sloshing water.

  “Hazard, ho!” Kora screamed.

  Fioni pushed forward on the tiller, steering Fen Wolf’s prow away from another of the rocky fangs. More spires sped past on either side, blurring by in a moment. Ahead, two particularly large spires, each hundreds of feet high, created a gateway of sorts, but the waves crashed between them, impossibly powerful. Fioni adjusted course, aiming straight between them.

  “What are you doing?” Owen screamed, half-choking on seawater.

  Fioni howled in laughter, her eyes wild.

  “The other ship!” Lady Danika yelled in Owen’s ear, grabbing his head and turning it to face behind them.

  While Iron Beard had pulled to before the Mouth, Thunder Killer was still coming. In a moment, it would be at the gap in the Godswall. A single dark figure stood at its prow. Dilan, it has to be!

  Then Fen Wolf hit the raging maelstrom between the fangs. The longship, literally lifted out of the water by the force of the waves, flew past the two massive rocky fangs before hammering down again on the other side, shooting out impossibly fast. The cliff faces that had towered over them only moments ago sped past, revealing a sky already turning crimson with the rising sun of early morning, leaving only dark shadows around them. Like magic, the violent waters just… calmed as Fen Wolf skipped over the waves, like a stone thrown by a child. The sail, deprived of all wind, went slack. Before them, rising out of the calm water, was a vast dark shape: a mountain surrounded by water and the sheltering ring of the Godswall around it.

  Torin Island—the Gateway to the Gods.

  They had made it.

  The island was like nothing Owen had ever seen before: its sides steep and covered in thick forest, but its summit was gone, as if a giant’s blade had cut it away, leaving only a flat rim. In the glowing dawn, he could just make out long, deep crevices—ravines—cut into its steeply sided slopes. Lightning flared behind them, now clearly showing the metal towers set at regular intervals along the rim of the Godswall. The air thrummed with occult energy, causing his skin to pebble and leaving an acrid stench in the air.

  Behind them, he heard a sudden horrific splintering sound, followed immediately by weak screams. Climbing up on the sternpost, he saw Thunder Killer’s prow disappear beneath the turbulent waters of the Mouth. The ship must have struck one of the rocky pillars and just… disintegrated. A moment later, the screams had ceased as well.

  He stared in horror.

  Dilan.

  Stunned silence gripped the crew for a moment, but then Fen Wolf came to an abrupt halt, sending the entire crew flying, with some going over the side of the ship and into the water. The sounds of wooden beams splintering and breaking crashed over them as the hull fell apart, ripped away in a single heart-wrenching moment by something beneath the water. The impact ripped Owen free of the sternpost and sent him flying forward into the stairs leading up to the steering platform. Men and women screamed in terror and pain as cold water rushed over the hull and sprayed up from beneath them as the sea rushed in. The ship spun sideways, shuddered, and began to tilt. Owen staggered to his feet, looking wildly about for Lady Danika and Fioni. He saw neither, but he did see Gali huddling against the gunwale, terror on her face. He splashed toward her, the water already up to his knees. Beneath him, the hull continued to crack and break apart, causing him to reel. Fen Wolf is dying, he realized. We hit something and ripped out the hull. As the ship began to tilt, the mast began to crack and splinter just above the heavy mast fish attached to the deck. As it broke free, ropes whipped about like angry snakes, with one tearing a woman’s head from her shoulders. A thunderous crack reverberated throughout the hull as the mast began to fall—directly toward Gali.

  He hesitated. His duty was to Lady Danika, not this foreign girl. When he heard her scream in terror and raise her hands over her face, his indecision vanished. Charging forward, he collided with her, carrying both of them over the side of the ship and into the cold, dark waters.

  Gripping her around the waist, he kicked wildly with his legs, trying to dive deeper to escape the mast. The falling mast hit the water above him, knifing through it as it came at them. At the last moment, it swept past them. His relief was short lived, though, as in the rush of its passage, the sinking mast grabbed them both in its wake, dragging them along with it into the depths.

  Chapter 31

  Galas

  Galas, his hand upon the tiller, watched Serina, who stood motionless, staring over the gunwale at the churning waters in the gap in the Godswall and the bobbing flotsam that was all that remained of Thunder Killer. Knowing there was no way the much less maneuverable Iron Beard could possibly follow where Thunder Killer had failed, Galas had given up the chase, heaving to instead. Serina might kill him, but the Mouth of the Gods certainly would.

  When she spoke, her voice trembled with effort, and perhaps a hint of disbelief. “Yarl Galas, your failure to catch our foe requires an… amendment to our pact. Your continued failure is deeply disturbing—and while I should pull your spine from your body—instead, I will offer you one final opportunity to serve me. Succeed, and I will still make you first among the other clans. Fail me again, and…”

  “I… yes, thank you, my queen.” Relief flushed through him. He wasn’t going to die this day after all.

  “But your remarkable cousin, this Red Wolf, she is now mine. Such bravery, such skill. She shall replace my own dear Auslaug, murdered so many years ago and taken from me.”

  “I… yes, my queen. Yes, of course.” Damn Fioni, and damn Serina. The bitch has to pay for what she’s done to me! This isn’t fair.

  “Lower your anchor here.”

  Galas, no fool, rushed to obey. In moments, Iron Beard’s heavy anchor, attached to an equally strong chain, was slipping into the waters. At first, he wasn’t sure the chain would be long enough, but just before it ran out, the anchor struck the seabed. This close to the Godswall, the seabed was higher than he would have thought. The anchor held the massive drake-ship in place before the thrashing waters. With the dawn’s promise lightening the sky, Galas could now see the shape of the is
land protected by the Godswall. Torin Island, the Gateway to the Gods. Who’d ever believe such a thing?

  His destiny was singing in his ears, promising him great things.

  Serina glanced toward the east, where the sun’s rise now made the mist glow golden. Bolts of lightning continued to strike the peaks of the Godswall every handful of minutes. “How long until high tide?”

  Galas hesitated while he made a mental assessment. Already, the water was rising in the Mouth—and as it did, the gap widened and the waters were becoming less turbulent. Soon, he’d be able to safely row past the fanglike spires blocking the gap. “An hour, maybe two—just to be safe.”

  “One hour, no more. The niece of Stron already has a considerable head start.”

  “But they don’t know where to go, my queen. Without your map, they’ll have to search the entire island.”

  She shook her head, watching the eastern sky. “The map beneath Serl’s shield was almost a half century old. Besides, it doesn’t show where my heart was hidden, merely this island and what looks like… ruins. In truth, my heart could be anywhere. Worse, whatever magic keeps the Feral Sea shrouded in fog also keeps the sky over Torin Island clear and cloudless. When the sun rises…” She sighed. “No, Dilan and I will have to remain in the hold until nightfall. You must run down our foe. Besides, Dilan and I have already been awake since early yesterday. Such efforts are… draining.”

  Galas stared at her, his lip quivering. “My queen… your servant was aboard Thunder Killer. He must have—”

  At that moment, Iron Beard’s anchor chain rattled and began to swing wildly. The crew muttered nervously, and Galas, his heart leaping into his throat, moved to stare over the hull at the length of chain. At first, he saw only dark waters, but then, a shape materialized, hanging from the chain and slowly making its way up it. Galas stumbled back, recognizing what it had to be. Gods, help me.

  The blood fiend called Dilan pulled himself hand over hand up the length of the chain, climbing up Iron Beard’s hull. The crew fell away in horror as he—it—climbed over the side, still wearing a heavy ring-mail coat. Serina drifted over, and the monster buried his curly head in her bosom. “It’s all right, Dilan,” she softly said, brushing his wet hair. “It’s an island. They’re not going anywhere.”

  She met Galas’s eye, and a shudder coursed through him. “The very moment the tide is high enough, go after them. Send all your warriors this time. Leave no one behind. Whatever you do, you must stop them from reaching my heart and using Sight-Bringer on it.”

  “My ship...”

  “Leave behind only the last of the Windhelm prisoners. When Dilan and I awake, we shall be… ill tempered to demonstrate restraint.”

  Dey stumbled forward, his gaze locked on her feet. “What… what would you have of me, my queen?”

  “You must go with Yarl Galas, my pet. As fond as I am of your ministrations, it will not be safe for you either when I wake. Help catch those who would do evil to your queen.”

  “And once I catch them, my queen?” Yarl Galas asked. “What then?”

  “Do as you will, although I would recommend keeping at least some prisoners for the long voyage home. But bring me the niece of Stron and your cousin. The Dain woman I shall consume, ending her foul line. Your cousin will be turned and become my new commander.”

  Galas bowed his head. “As you command, my queen.”

  Without another word, Serina and her blood fiend childe entered Iron Beard’s hold, the hatch doors slamming shut behind them.

  Chapter 32

  Owen

  Owen’s boots slammed down into something hard on the bottom of the seabed. Rocks or a reef, the water was too dark and dirty to ascertain what exactly, but he suspected whatever it was had also ripped out Fen Wolf’s hull. Mad with panic, Gali thrashed against him, flailing at him with her fists. Tightening his grip around her waist, he shoved off the rocks, following the air bubbles up, dragging the struggling young woman with him. Just when he thought his lungs would burst, their heads broke free of the water. He inhaled deeply, holding Gali against his chest as she coughed and moaned. If she was coughing, it meant she’d live.

  Nearby, the ship continued to sink. It was mostly underwater now, but those on the deck were still standing above water, helping others. He caught a quick glimpse of Fioni, heard her screaming orders to the crew to swim for the beach. Still holding Gali against his chest, he rolled onto his back and kicked for the shoreline, maybe a hundred paces away. The beach was grey with the sunrise and ringed by thick dark woods.

  “Don’t fight me, Gali. Be calm. I’ll get you to land.”

  In response, she only moaned.

  The waters were surprisingly calm, with little to no surf, a result of the protective Godswall, but swimming with Gali was still exhausting work. Then his boots touched bottom, and he could stand with his head above water. “Be calm,” he told Gali. “We’re almost there.”

  She answered in Hishtari, but soon she could stand as well. Then they were struggling out of the water and onto the shoreline, safe for the moment. She collapsed onto the sand, but he stared back at the sinking longboat. Only Fen Wolf’s curved prow and stern now remained above the water. He still heard Fioni’s voice giving commands, saw a flash of her red hair near the stern. Others were in the water now, each man and woman pushing… something through the water as they swam for the shore. He squinted and then recognized the objects: shields, loaded with weapons and other supplies. Fioni was trying to save what she could.

  He ripped his boots free and then tore his shirt over his head. He laid both beside Gali and then undid his sword belt, putting the weapon in her hands. He leaned over, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Stay here, keep this safe, but help the others reach the beach if you can. Do you understand?”

  Her eyes were large with fear, but she bobbed her head in understanding. He turned away, making his way back into the water, and swam for the sinking ship. After only a handful of strokes, he passed a clearly miserable Ekkie. The dog whined once as she paddled past him. He rolled over again and began to pull himself through the water with long, steady overhead strokes.

  Where is Lady Danika?

  Then he saw a woman’s face framed by long dark hair plastered to its sides. She was swimming toward him, pushing a wooden shield on which balanced several fighting axes. Relief washed over him, and in two quick strokes, he reached her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Fine. I’m fine,” Lady Danika said breathlessly. “Help Fioni.”

  “Sight-Bringer?”

  “I have it. Go!”

  She kicked away from him, headed for the beach. He watched the back of her head for a few moments and then swam for the ship. Most of the ship was beneath the waves, but Fioni and several others still moved about. Fioni hung to the sternpost, giving orders to Kora and a handful of the crew who were trying to save what they could. The crew was still able to stand on the submerged deck and keep their heads above water, but for how much longer, Owen didn’t know.

  Kora pushed a wooden plank, part of a rowing bench, over the submerged hull. A lofty pile of weapons and armor sat atop the bench, held in place by a length of rope. “What do you need?” he called out to her.

  “Save whatever you can,” she said breathlessly, “but focus on weapons.” Her gaze darted to the Mouth of the Gods in the distance behind them. “The tide is rising. When it’s high enough, Iron Beard will come.”

  As she kicked away, he climbed onto the submerged deck, the water up to his neck. He thrashed about, heading toward the spot next to the fish mast where he had tossed Vory’s ring coat, praying it was still there. He ducked under the water, searching for the coat unsuccessfully. He surfaced, took several deep breaths, and moved a few feet farther away before diving under again. This time, his fingers brushed the sleeve of the coat where it was stuck beneath a bench. A feeling of giddiness coursed through him, and he surfaced once more, grasped at a broken length of wood several feet long
floating nearby, and dragged it to him. Once more, he dove beneath the water, pulling the coat free of the bench and piling it atop the wooden board.

  Looking about him, he saw Fioni was no longer atop the sternpost. A quick flash of red hair in the waves was likely her. Beneath him, the ship shuddered, and a loud crack resonated through the deck boards beneath the water. Water and air bubbles cascaded near him. A moment later, the ship sank, leaving him grasping at the wooden board upon which lay his coat. That’s it then, he thought. Fen Wolf is gone.

  And with it, any chance we had of getting off this island.

  Pushing the board ahead of him, he swam for the shore.

  #

  Owen joined Fioni, Kora, Lady Danika, and Erik on the beach. He had donned his ring-mail coat and retrieved his sword from Gali. Fioni was the only other person wearing ring mail, having recovered her own coat before swimming from Fen Wolf. The crew—a quick count showed him sixty-one of them—sat about on the sand, recovering their strength or tending to wounds, while others laid out the weapons and supplies they had managed to salvage. The water where Fen Wolf had sunk wasn’t that deep, and the best swimmers had already made several more trips out to dive for supplies. The problem was that they were running out of time.

  “How many did we lose?” he asked Kora.

  “Two of the wounded and three others. Everyone else made the swim to shore easily enough. As far as shipwrecks go, we were lucky.”

  The look Fioni gave her could have melted steel.

  “Sorry,” Kora mumbled, looking away.

  “What of weapons?” Fioni demanded.

  “Not so lucky,” admitted Erik. “A couple dozen shields and axes, ten of the Wolfrey swords, a handful of long-knives, maybe a dozen spears, and… not much armor, unfortunately.”

  “What of the crossbows?” Fioni asked.

  “Five of them,” said Erik.

  “That could be worse,” Fioni said hopefully.

  Erik looked crestfallen and shook his head sadly. “We found only two bundles of bolts, less than thirty missiles.”

 

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