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

by William Stacey

  “Wodor’s balls,” swore Fioni. “That’ll barely slow them.”

  “It gets worse,” said Kora. “We have only a day’s worth of fresh water and less food. We’ll need to hunt to stay alive if—”

  “No, we’ll need to fight to stay alive,” said Fioni, looking past Kora to the Mouth. As the tide rose, the gap between the Godswall widened. “Galas will be coming soon.”

  “The sun is up,” said Lady Danika. “There’s no fog over the island, so Serina can’t come after us until nightfall. There’s that at least.”

  Fioni snorted. Owen glanced from the Mouth to the dark interior of the island, to the steeply sloped flat mountain rising before them. “We can’t stay here,” he said to Fioni.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why not? We hit Galas as he tries to come ashore, when he’s vulnerable. As long as he can’t get his men onto the beach, he can’t overwhelm us.”

  Owen shook his head. “That won’t happen. Galas will move farther down the shoreline—where we can’t stop him. He’ll bring all his men ashore, form ranks, and then march on us. We’ll be overwhelmed.”

  Fioni’s face darkened in anger. “He’s already lost an entire ship. How many more men can he have?”

  “I think Owen’s right,” said Kora in a neutral tone. “Just to sail Iron Beard, he must have a hundred or more men. And all of them will have shields and armor, not to mention bows. If we had more to fight with…”

  “He also has Serina’s ghouls,” Lady Danika said. “You said yourself they didn’t stop with the dawn when they hunted you at the Fist of Wodor.”

  Fioni glared at them, looking from one face to another.

  Owen looked past her into the forested interior of the island, thickly overgrown with brush and pine trees. Marching through the island’s interior would be arduous work, but they had no real choice; to stay and fight here was certain death. Fioni must see that. A far too warm breeze caressed his face as he watched her struggle with the inevitable. How is such weather possible this far north—and at this time of the year? We should be seeing snow, but it’s like an autumn day.

  Fioni ran her hands back through her wet hair. “You’re the idea man, Owen. What do you suggest?”

  “What about a shield wall?” offered Erik. “If we put the crossbows on the flanks, we can—”

  “No, we can’t,” Owen insisted. “We don’t have enough shields for everyone. Even if we did, Galas would come against us with a longer wall and envelop us. Once his men are behind us, your crew will break and run.”

  “We Fenyir are no cowards!” Erik insisted.

  “It’s got nothing to do with bravery,” Owen said. “It’s about tactics and human nature. No one will stand and fight against a foe to their front while another enemy savages their rear. If we fight here, we die.” He met Fioni’s gaze. “We need to head inland and find a more defensible location, one where they can’t use their numbers on us. Here, the terrain favors him, not us. Half of winning a battle is choosing where to fight it. This is not the right place!”

  “He’s right, Fioni,” said Kora. “We can’t defend here.”

  “I’m tired of running from my cousin,” said Fioni. “I’ve been running from him since he betrayed his own clan and murdered my father.”

  “This is crazy,” said Lady Danika, pushing her way between them, forcing them to look at her. “Listen to yourselves. This isn’t about Galas Gilt-Mane. The real foe is Serina Greywynne, the Blood Queen. We cannot win against her through any battle—no matter where we fight. We need to find your uncle and use Sight-Bringer on her heart. Everything else is pointless.”

  “Aye, listen to her,” said Owen.

  Kora leaned in and gripped Fioni’s wrist, meeting her eye and shaking her head. “Don’t let your pride choose the rapids over the calm deep water. We can’t kill Galas on the beach. You know this to be true.”

  “Nightfall,” said Lady Danika softly. “That’s as long as we have, and we’re wasting time arguing about it.”

  Fioni closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling. When she opened them again, she stared at Owen. “All right, Northman. Where?”

  Owen’s gaze drifted to the steeply sloped mountain. “If nothing else, we climb for high ground.”

  Fioni locked her gaze on Owen. “If you’re wrong again, we’re all dead.”

  “The fact that you’re still alive to hate me proves I wasn’t wrong the last time,” he said, his own anger flaring in challenge.

  Just for a moment, he feared she’d strike him. Instead, she turned to Kora, her voice tight. “Get the others ready. We move before the sun hits the high hand.”

  “Iron Beard!” someone yelled from the beach.

  The prow of the drake-ship appeared through the gap in the Godswall. Long rows of oars pulled it into the calm waters, where it slowly began to turn toward them.

  “Maybe he’ll hit the reef as well,” Erik said.

  “No,” said Fioni, shaking her head. “The Mouth broke us, smashed us against the reef, but it’s as Serl wrote in his journal—at high tide, the Mouth calms. It would seem the gods wanted us to sink, not my cousin, damn his eyes.” Fioni pulled her sword several inches from its sheath and then slammed it back in, her face dark with anger. “We move now.”

  Chapter 33

  Galas

  Iron Beard’s hull was too deep to bring the drake ship up onto the beach, so Galas ordered his men to drop anchor about twenty feet away, where the water rose only to a man’s chest. He stood on the shore, watching as his crew, over a hundred warriors, made a human chain in the surf, offloading weapons and supplies. Nearby, standing about and doing nothing while his men worked, were the remainder of Kory’ander Dey’s Hishtari soldiers, now less than two dozen men. He glared at them, snorting contemptuously. The Hishtari were guppies, of no real consequence in the coming battle.

  He stared into the woods in the direction Fioni and her crew had disappeared. His men had found their trail within moments of hitting the beach. It would be child’s play to follow them through the thick bush. Fioni and her warriors were shipwrecked and without supplies. Galas had almost twice as many fighters—all strong men. Half of Fioni’s crew were only split-asses, good for only one thing. Serina had told him to take prisoners, and he would, but first they’d suffer. And—despite the queen’s wishes—Fioni was going to die this day as well. While he’d prefer to keep Fioni alive long enough to suffer and give him sons, there was no gods-damned way he was going to let Serina reward her with eternal life. He’d have to make up a story about how his cousin had unfortunately died in the fighting and there was nothing Galas could do about it… blah, blah, blah. His blood began to throb, his erection grow, when he considered what he’d do to Fioni, but then his eyes fell on that weasel, Dey, standing apart from his men, and his mood darkened once again. He’ll be a problem. Galas sucked his teeth. He’ll tell on me—and then Serina will kill me. Galas considered Dey. He could have his men attack, kill all the Hishtari at once, but then he thought about Serina’s last blood thrall, Modwyn Du’Aig. Modwyn had possessed inhuman speed and strength. He had killed two guards with his bare hands, ripping their heads and spines from their bodies like pulling a weed from a garden. No, if Dey is the same as Modwyn, he’ll kill me in a moment. Unless…

  He turned away, strolling along the beach as he considered his options. The early-morning sun beat down on him already, heating his ring-mail coat, soaking his thick wool gambeson with sweat. The weather was unseasonably warm. This is unnatural, as is that constant fucking lightning along the Godswall, the bright-blue sky overhead but fog everywhere else. We need to leave this place—soon!

  He heard heavy steps behind him, turned, and saw Aegrism approaching, his bald octopus-tattooed head gleaming in the sun.

  “Well?” Galas asked.

  “We’re ready,” Aegrism said.

  “The ship?”

  “Just the last of the Windhelm prisoners, six girls.”

  Galas sighed. “What a
waste.” He turned and stared into the woods. “We’re sure we can track ‘em?”

  Aegrism nodded, his pleated black beard swaying. “Grotlin grew up hunting deer with his cousins on Macklin Island. He reckons he can follow almost a hundred clansmen through woods well enough.”

  “If he can’t, I’ll gut him myself.” Galas ran his fingers over the hilt of his sword. Under his arm, he held his speckled iron helm. He donned it now, tying the leather straps beneath his chin. “Let’s go say hello to my cousin, then.”

  He approached his men, all grouped together on the beach and waiting for him. Standing separate were Dey and his Hishtari soldiers. Dey had donned one of their ridiculous brightly colored gambesons and had strapped a long curved sword to his waist.

  As Galas was about to address his men, Dey stepped forward, a sneer on his blue lips. “You took too long preparing, you Fenyir dog. Those we hunt have now gotten too far ahead.”

  An angry murmur swept through his men, and their eyes hardened as they glared at the Hishtari soldiers, now glancing at one another in fear and backing away from Dey.

  Galas, once again remembering the sight of Modwyn holding two severed heads, considered his words carefully. “No one cares what the queen’s fuck-boy thinks. Be glad I’m letting you tag along at all.”

  Dey’s smile was a hollow thing as he slipped closer, coming within inches of Galas’s face. His heart leaping into his throat, a cold sweat coating his skin, Galas forced himself to remain where he stood. To flinch would not be manly, nor would his men understand why; they hadn’t seen what Modwyn could do.

  “The plan has changed, Yarl Galas Gilt-Mane,” Dey said, an insane glint in his dark eyes. “I will lead the hunt now.”

  His men swore angrily, but Galas held his hand, knowing that, despite appearances, his life hung by a thread. “That’s... that’s not what the queen wants,” Galas said, hearing the tremor of fear in his voice and hating himself for it. His men stared at him in disbelief. “She ordered you to help me.”

  Dey leaned in closer, and it took every ounce of self-control Galas possessed to not fall back. Dey whispered into his ear, “I am helping you, dog, by not killing you in front of your men.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Galas said softly. “I only have to give the word, and—”

  His words died in his throat as Dey reached out impossibly fast and gripped Galas’s cock, squeezing it and the thick fabric of his wool breeches with his fist. Before Galas could do or say anything, Dey grinned and squeezed. Pain flashed through Galas, but he kept his arms by his side and remained still. His men surged forward, anger on their faces. “Wait!” Galas practically shrieked. “Do nothing.”

  Dey, a wry grin on his delicate features, leaned in and placed his blue lips against Galas’s neck. “Listen to me very carefully, you fucking Fenyir animal. With no more effort than it would take to wipe my ass, I’ll rip your flaccid little excuse for manhood right from you.”

  Galas trembled. “The… the queen—”

  “Sleeps. And when she wakes, I will give her the Dain woman. With her enemies dead, do you really think she’ll be angry because I embarrassed you? No, she won’t punish me. She’ll reward me. But you’ll be a eunuch.”

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  “No, I’m changing my fate. I am the Moon Lord of Daenipor. I will no longer be her... her… No, I will lead the hunt, not you. Do you understand?”

  Galas bit his lip and inclined his head. “Go on then, Moon Lord. Lead. We all want the same thing, after all.”

  “Tell them.”

  When Galas hesitated, Dey squeezed his cock once more, causing him to gasp in pain, his vision blurring. He raised his voice, practically panting. “Listen… listen to me. Kory’ander Dey, the Moon Lord of Daenipor, is now in charge. Obey him as you would me.”

  His men stared at him in disbelief and then contempt. But Dey released him, sending relief flooding through Galas as he rubbed himself, falling back from Dey, spots of light in his vision.

  “Just so,” said Dey magnanimously, turning about and addressing all the men. “The queen wishes I lead the hunt. Your yarl understands I am—by far—best suited to do so.” He paused, raising a thin eyebrow at Galas.

  Galas, feeling overwhelming shame, looked away.

  “Now,” said Dey. “We hunt.”

  The Hishtari soldiers stared at Dey with a mixture of awe and fear, as if Dey were one of their honored ancestors brought back to life. The hunter, Grotlin, led the way into the woods, with Dey and his men following. Galas’s crew stood in place, staring at Galas with something decidedly less than admiration. Aegrism stepped forward, his mouth still open in disbelief. “What—”

  “Just go, gods damn it!” snapped Galas, spittle flying from his lips. “Follow them. And if anyone ever speaks of this to me again, I’ll kill him.”

  Aegrism grimaced but turned away, leading the men into the woods. With no other choice, Galas followed.

  Chapter 34

  Owen

  Fioni led her crew through the thick woods, following one of the many ravines cut into the mountain’s slope. As Owen had expected, the bush was thick and difficult to break through, so when he pointed out a deer trail that meandered its way along the ravine, Fioni gladly accepted his suggestion to follow it. Knowing she was still in a dark mood over her ship and having to run from Galas, Owen kept to the rear of the party, watching for the inevitable pursuit.

  The Fenyir, terrible woodsmen, made too much noise, so he remained back, watching their trail from cover, listening intently to the forest around them. He heard birds, squirrels chattering, and the soft creak of branches, but no sign yet of Galas and his men. Satisfied for now, he slipped away, easily catching up to the others not that far ahead. He heard the stream before he smelled the fresh water, feeling relief his guess about the deer trail crossing water at some point had been correct. Fioni had taken advantage of the water and had called a quick break. Men and women clustered on hands and knees before the stream, drinking, their faces flushed from the exertion. He heard Kora call out to Fioni in an excited voice, motioning her over to where she stood in the thick grass behind a bank of the stream. Ekkie was beside Kora, barking furiously. Fioni and Erik pushed through the grass to join Kora. Owen joined them.

  When he was within a dozen paces, the stench of rotting flesh wafted over him, followed immediately by the angry buzzing of hundreds of flies.

  The three Fenyir warriors stared down at the corpse of a large wolf, but the carcass seemed… odd somehow, as if it had shrunk in on itself. The wolf’s dark-brown fur was almost black with rot. Its brown eyes bulged in death, its once-pink tongue now swollen and sticking out from the muzzle.

  “Just a wolf,” Erik said, glancing at Owen.

  A heavy sense of unease settled in Owen’s gut. “What kills wolves?”

  Kora shook her head. “I was just thinking the same thing. Bear?”

  “Could be, but I’ve seen no bear spoor.” Owen dropped down on one knee, gripped the animal’s maggoty hide, and flipped it over, surprised at how light the carcass was.

  “Gods’ balls,” said Erik, holding his mouth and staggering back.

  Owen forced himself to breathe through his mouth as he examined the carcass. The wolf’s wide chest was… gone, replaced by a tunnel-like wound larger than his arm penetrating the chest cavity. Ekkie lowered her head and whimpered. Maggots wriggled and fed in the exposed flesh. He drew a dagger and used its edge to examine the wound.

  “A spear-thrust?” suggested Erik. He glanced at Fioni. “Your uncle?”

  “This is no spear wound,” mused Owen. “The opening is far too large. I could stick my entire arm in there and still have room.”

  “No bear, then. What could do such a thing?” asked Fioni.

  Owen suddenly understood why the carcass appeared shrunken. “The blood is gone.”

  “Gone?” asked Fioni. “What do you mean gone?”

  He prodded the edges of the wound, ex
posing raw pink flesh but no blood.

  Kora walked about around the wolf, examining the ground, pushing aside the stalks of grass. “There’s no blood on the ground, either.”

  “Blood fiend?” asked Erik.

  “Blood fiends bite the neck,” said Owen. “Don’t they?” He saw the indecision on their faces. Turning back to the carcass, he pushed the fur aside, examining it. “I see no other wounds.”

  “You’re the woodsman, Owen,” said Fioni. “What do you think?”

  He wiped the tip of his dagger against the dirt before returning it to his sheath. “The maggots aren’t yet cocooned, and the carcass is mostly stiff. Normally, I’d guess less than a week. But…”

  “But what?” asked Erik.

  Owen sat back, rubbing his beard. “By now, other scavengers should have picked it apart, but they haven’t touched it. Why just bugs? Where are the birds, the rodents, the foxes? Why have they left the carcass be?”

  “Maybe there are no bears or foxes on this island,” said Kora.

  “An island without scavengers?” Owen shook his head. “Something is very wrong here.”

  Fioni looked past him to her crew and then to the mountainside they still had to climb this day. “Leave it alone,” she said curtly. “This island can keep its secrets. We need to find my uncle before nightfall, or we’re all dead.”

  As she led her people farther up the side of the ravine, Owen stared at the dead wolf. When the last of the crew had disappeared from sight, he remained in place for several minutes, sweeping his gaze about the dark, silent forest.

  Nothing, he thought. Is it too quiet?

  #

  As they pushed through the woods, steadily climbing the ravine up the mountain’s steep slope, the sun beat down upon them. Morning passed into early afternoon, and still they were only partway up the mountainside. Now, the trees began to thin out, replaced by bushy cliffs, gullies, and ravines. They found a path—although it was so overgrown and wild, Owen couldn’t tell if it was natural or manmade. Fioni led the others along it as it cut back and forth up the mountainside. The higher they climbed, the harder the march became, and soon everyone was drenched in sweat.